One Prick to Bleed
by Miss Snuffles
Summary: Shortly after Yoda sees Anakin slaughter the Sand People, he sends his secret protege to stop Skywalker before the Dark Side can grow stronger. Features Sabe, Obi, Ani, and Yoda.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: One Prick to Bleed

AUTHOR: Amidolee

Summary: An AU beginning during AotC, featuring Sabé, Anakin, and Obi-Wan.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my muse, and even that is doubtful.

EDIT: 2008 – In Word and the preview, all chapters have symboled page breaks, which strangely disappear on so I'm putting them in again.

**Chapter One**

Balance.

A word hanging in the air, filling the shadows looming over the deep chamber like a sentry. An idea warring the shadows against the dappling dance of evening Coruscant traffic, like whirling grains of sand in a dust storm. But the shadows belonged in the chamber, wrapping around the smooth, curved structural pillars; they revealed the chamber's height, its depth, but invited the mind to search for more than where the flickering, moving lights touched. The lights belonged here, too, in their play. Once the sun rose, the shadows would begin their slow, graceful bow to the light, but they would not leave. Shadows belonged in the day as much as light in the night.

They were balanced.

Jedi Master Yoda stood gazing through the curving transparisteel wall of this secreted chamber. He knew many Jedi found the breathtaking, dazzling chaos of Coruscant nightlights distracting to the initial calm needed for meditation. If he so wished, he could seal this view and bathe his chamber in complete, controlled calm.

But Yoda preferred balance.

A tricky thing, balance. Yoda chewed thoughtfully on his gimer stick . He might have chuckled at the chemical jokes he knew were traded among the Jedi, if his thoughts were not so serious. Large, rounded green eyes reflected and absorbed the sunset and traffic, the white beams approaching and then curving wide around the Jedi Temple as reserved, red lights flowed away to be lost in the flicker and blaze of a technological sea at sunset.

White against red. Coming and going. But from another perspective, the lights were reversed. The only absolute . . . they flowed around the Jedi Temple. Its spears pierced through the moving sea of lights, a reaching, towering rock that split the current, disrupted the flow and forced it around. Despite the warm, soothing glow that bathed the Temple at night, a relative darkness ringed the empty space between the constant movement of Coruscant and the home the Jedi.

The Keepers of Balance.

Yoda breathed slowly, clasping his three-clawed hands over his stick. Very few Jedi understood the balance they served to keep. All light, it was not. The Force was not simply split into absolute Light and Dark, nor Good and Evil. Even if it were divided so simply, so complacently, one side of the Force could not exist without the other.

_Without darkness there can be no light_.

The Force is truth. Undeniable. In everything, of everything . . . Absolute only in itself. It is always light and dark, moving through gray. Flickers of light in the dark. Shadows creeping into the light. The Jedi, the universe, lived in the gray, moved through it; flickers of light trying to penetrate darkness. But the darkness also moved. It could only be displaced, perhaps spread and thinned, but it would always be there.

Unless . . .

Balance, so fragile. One grain of sand . . .

Yoda did not need to turn his head and fully illuminate his chamber to know. Once the light banks were fully powered, the shadows would disappear, and the room would seemingly lose its depth. The mind would not be aware of shadows. Only a round, lighted chamber would it see.

Better to be aware of both the light and the shadow.

A soft, barely audible sigh escaped the diminutive Jedi Master. Balance he understood, the dance of light and dark. Yet most did not, even though balance was a prime concern of the Jedi Order, a concern constantly discussed and whispered in the wake of a prophecy. A prophecy to bring balance to the Force.

Unbalanced, prophecies often were.

Yoda started to nibble on his gimer stick again when he felt the faint presence. The reason he was here tonight. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. Then he turned slowly, absorbing the curving shadows, the waving depths of low illumination into the rounded darkness. For centuries only he had entered this chamber and then opened it to another. No other Jedi in the Temple knew of it, but there were other chambers like it. Other Jedi Masters who entered them and played the dance of light and dark. The Order moved around these chambers like the traffic around the Temple.

Yoda stood in the center of the chamber. With a slight push of the Force, he allowed the apparently seamless wall to give entry. A door slid away, sending a rectangle of faded light to slice through cupped shadow. Yoda's large ears pricked slowly as the silhouette of a robed figure softly probed the new bank of light. It moved gracefully into the room, steady and unperturbed by the door silently closing behind it.

When the robed figure reached Yoda, it knelt down smoothly, seeming to pool before him.

"Sabé," Yoda spoke quietly.

"Master Yoda," the figure spoke softly, respectfully, raising her hooded head to meet his eye. Yoda observed the dark, strong eyes of the Naboo woman before him. Such stillness rested in her delicate, beautiful face, though he knew under her calm she was curious, anticipating the meaning of this meeting, and though unknowing of the task he was about to set her, she already accepted it.

He had seen so many faces like this. Young but aged. Souls stilled. Lives stopped before they began so that others may live.

Jedi.

Yoda reached out and gently touched the forehead of Sabé Mabriee. Not a Jedi, this one. But choices and paths, all part of the Force, brought her here to the Temple.

A sad heaviness moved in the tiny Jedi as his claws gently brushed the dark, thick hair just under the cowl of her hood. Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and Yoda knew she sensed the heaviness around him. He knew she was inquisitive, burning to know why, but she would not ask. She would wait for him to speak. If he did not speak of his sadness, she would not ask, for she knew her place well.

"Dark times are near, young Mabriee," said Yoda. He clasped his claws over his stick again. "Shifting, the galaxy is. Power less spread."

The former handmaiden's eyes hardened, her mouth tightened slightly. Yoda did not need to state a fact his protégé was well aware of, of which power in the galaxy he spoke.

"Heard you have of the prophecy of the Chosen One?"

"Yes, Master." A flicker of curiosity, like flecks of gold in her dark eyes. Yoda smiled inwardly. Stoicism could only hide so much. "Some believe the Chosen One will bring balance to the Force." She paused only a moment, taking Yoda's silent prompt. "Some believe it is Anakin Skywalker."

In her presence he could find no trace of emotion over this statement. Distant. Neutral. Studied distance, perhaps, but distance nonetheless.

"Indeed," said Yoda. He turned and walked a few paces away. Coruscant . . . so alive with life, yet the planet itself was dead. Destroyed by the very life it served.

"Uncertain prophecies are," he said. "The Chosen One Anakin Skywalker may be, but unclear the prophecy is. Delicate, the balance is." If Anakin Skywalker was to bring balance to the Force, then there would first have to be a great disruption, a disturbing tilt to either dark or light. Yoda had studied the prophecy. He was still studying it. The Unifying Force and the Living Force and the prophecy's many interpretations . . . it all pointed to great darkness. Perhaps Skywalker would restore the balance, perhaps he would not. The cost of the prophecy, if it did indeed restore true balance, could be devastating.

Ever since Qui-Gon Jinn had brought the boy into the Council chambers, Yoda had been meditating and observing, moving through the Force. He had spoken his doubts, but Yoda would not bend the will or thinking of the other Council members. He could only guide and reason, and hopefully open more minds to this delicate situation. Some saw the danger, others saw hope in a misconceived notion of balance and prophecies.

But Yoda, in all his study, had finally been given something definitive and clairvoyant. The Unifying Force and the Living Force had screamed it through him.

Anakin Skywalker was being consumed by darkness. Yoda remembered the strange, dark shift of the Force around the time of Skywalker's birth, though he had not known its source or reason at the time. But the heaviness had been clouding and thickening through the years—and now it clenched like a fist, poised to strike.

The attack on Tatooine was miniscule compared to what is to come.

Yoda returned to stand before Sabé. She knelt on one knee, her arms crossed over the other knee, the hood flowed over her head into the cloak in one smooth line to the floor. The small shoulders under the fabric were relaxed and hidden, but she was attentive, poised, waiting for her duty.

"Great darkness I sense in Skywalker," he said softly. "Killed in hate on Tatooine he has."

Tension slid along her jaw, barely perceptible even to Yoda's sharp eye. He could feel her gathering, bracing, through the Force. He told her what he saw, what he felt, knowing each word the young woman was comparing to the small boy she'd known before coming under Yoda's service and the controversial Padawan she'd glimpsed when Yoda's missions sent her into his path. He could sense her disbelief and confusion, and then she reached out, searched her observations and feelings, searched Yoda and what he'd taught her.

Her eyes had fallen to the floor, to his clawed feet. Yoda waited to feel her acceptance and openness, waited for her to be ready for his next words. The heaviness and sadness flowed through him, slow and painful, thick and clotted.

She lifted her eyes, feeling it.

Open. Waiting.

"Stopped, Skywalker must be."

Her mouth opened. Then closed.

"Stopped," she said. Almost a question, but not quite. Her chin lowered slightly as she stared at Yoda, clarifying his meaning, though he knew she understood it instantly.

"Yes."

A silence fell. Leaden. Studied. He let it fill the room, let his pupil collect and absorb.

"Master Yoda," Sabé said quietly, so controlled. "Surely the Shadows—"

"No. Too delicate the situation is. Know a Jedi cannot."

Her gaze fell to the floor briefly. Yoda did not need to elaborate. She knew her purpose, knew why certain secrets were kept from the Jedi. It had been the earliest of her training to understand this. The Jedi Shadows, a special, elite group of Jedi chosen to destroy those who'd turned to the Dark Side, were whispered about among the Order. Their identities were kept secret, but the Council did not deny the existence of them. But the matter of Anakin Skywalker could not be dealt with by a Shadow. The Council could not know, and certainly not the Order.

"To Tatooine you will go," said Yoda. "Engage Skywalker in battle, you will not."

"Yes, Master Yoda."

"Stop him, you must, before he rejoins Master Kenobi."

"Yes, Master Yoda."

Yoda paused, his claws etching into his toughened skin. He gazed at the young woman kneeling before him, accepting this act some would call betrayal. Accepting she may very likely be facing death.

Yoda reached out and cupped her chin in his tiny hand. _Served me well, she has_, he thought sadly. Only five years. He had not taken on an . . . assistant in a long time Twenty-three years. The Force was giving him no hint whether or not he would soon be waiting for another.

"Meditate, we will," said Yoda. He settled onto the floor as Sabé lowered her hood and folded her legs before her. She met his eye as her hands rested on her knees, palms upward and open. Then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, opening herself completely to the Force and sinking into it. Yoda closed his eyes as the Force flowed into him, through him, and between them, knowing it could be the last time he communed with his pupil.

* * *

_Naboo ten years earlier . . ._

Quiet had finally settled over Theed Palace as Sabé silently made her way down the east garden corridor. Her feet ached and her eyes itched as they scanned the shadows formed by the arches bordering the gardens. The revelries were finally over, the stragglers had been kindly but firmly escorted out of the ballroom and into the city. Only the night security remained awake as the silver moon began its descent into the dawn.

Well, night security, Captain Panaka, and her.

As she passed under one of the soft yellow orbs illuminating the corridor, Sabé stifled a yawn. She should have just gone to bed once she'd sent the Queen and the others to restful, glorious, exhausted sleep, but she'd taken the responsibility of escorting young Anakin back to his chambers he was temporarily sharing with Obi-Wan Kenobi. The kid could barely walk and seemed rather disoriented and confused when Molnè, one of the palace hostesses, had tried to be his chaperone. And she'd wanted to be sure Anakin would not be left alone. But Jedi Kenobi had been there, apparently sleeping like any sensible person would at that hour. The door to his room had been closed, but through a yawn, Anakin said he could sense him, and so Sabé left once Anakin was fast asleep.

She should have gone to bed then. Everything was secure. But she knew Panaka would still be awake. Grumpy with his usual anxiety over possible danger to the Queen. Sabé could not blame him. The Trade Federation may be planning something other than licking their wounds.

But Captain Panaka had grouchily ordered her to bed. "How would you like to play decoy tomorrow without even an hour's sleep?" he'd demanded when she'd offered to assist him.

"About as much as I'd like our head of security to operate on chemical stimulants in the morning," she'd replied.

Panaka was not one to take jokes in the wee hours.

So, Sabé left Panaka to torture night security, but she knew it would take her a bit longer to wind down. The long way back to the Queen's Royal Chambers, a stroll through the east gardens . . . So peacefully silver in the moonlight, and the romula roses would be blooming . . .

Sabé entered the lavish, sloping garden under a vine arch flourishing with white petals. The soft, sweet fragrance cooled her face. The mossy path cushioned her slippered feet. She paused to remove the ballroom slippers and sighed deliriously as the dewy ground healed her aching feet. Then she followed the winding path, letting her mind empty to the soothing distant roar of the Solleu waterfall and trickling play of the garden's own pools and falls. A calm breeze brushed the leaves, adding to the whispers of the night. Around her Theed glowed warmly, softly, without masking the breathtaking night sky above her.

The young handmaiden smiled as she gazed into the stars absent of blockade ships. She'd missed the Naboo sky. Tatooine, though clear and beautiful at night, had felt hostile and treacherous. Coruscant . . . she shuddered. How anyone could live on such a planet!

She paused at the romula roses and reached out to touch a silky petal. This particular plant was four hundred years old. It wound around the seppa tree's trunk, then burst out below its branches, curving all the way back to the ground. The roses, encased in thick, dark green pods in the daylight, stretched toward the moonlight like graceful, spread hands. Sabé loved the icy blue, silken petals. They reminded her of the sparkling falls she heard wherever she went in Theed.

As she continued down the path, now marked by stones from caves all over Naboo, Sabé sensed another in the garden up ahead. Although it was not uncommon to find someone viewing the beautiful nature at night, Sabé's hand moved instinctively to the blaster concealed under her gown. Her fingers slipped through the slit within the skirt's folds and clasped around the hilt.

Perhaps it was merely a couple who'd failed to notice the celebration ball's end or somehow slipped security's sweep. It might even be one of the nightwatch searching for romantic stragglers . . .

But somehow she didn't think so. Moving silently, her hem barely brushing the grass, Sabé crept around the next bend. It would open into a pond with secluded gazing alcoves, perfect for anyone wanting to sit and reflect. She'd been here many times, knew every alcove. Her training told her to draw her weapon before coming into the clearing, but Sabé paused, her senses prickling, tingling. Not urgently, as in battle. Subtle.

The faint tingling she'd come to associate with Jedi.

Was Jedi Kenobi still awake? Had Anakin been mistaken?

Sabé, senses alert, stepped into the pond clearing. At first she saw no one. Then her eyes fastened on a tiny figure sitting on a rock at the pond's edge. She recognized the long, pointed ears and frosty, wispy curls of the one introduced as Jedi Master Yoda.

She stopped, studying the still creature. He could have been a statue. Or one of the swamp creatures the Gungans kept as pets. Only the simple brown robes assured her the leafy pads floating over the dark water were not his natural home. _Or, perhaps, he would feel perfectly at home there_. Sabé could almost see the peace emanating from the Jedi. Perhaps it was he and not the breeze that made the garden sing tonight.

Just as she thought to fade silently back into the garden and leave him at peace, the Jedi Master spoke in a soft, gravelly voice. Somehow she didn't jump, somehow he did not disrupt the peaceful quiet.

"Young Mabriee, it is."

She almost gasped in surprise. After a moment, she found her voice. "Yes, Master Yoda," she said just as quietly. Timidly. "I did not mean to disturb you."

"Disturbed me, you have not. Join me."

Her heart fluttered a little at the invitation. Even now, after all she'd been through since the invasion, she couldn't suppress some of her awe. Although Naboo was on the outskirts of the Republic and removed from its affairs, the legends and mysticism surrounding the Jedi had not escaped the curiosity of her people. She'd learned a little about the Jedi Order in school, but it had taken a more personal study to learn more than diplomatic facts from a textbook. Naboo, loyal to preserving and improving their own culture, often studied others they perceived to be worthy of scholarly attention. Her meditation master had been naturally inclined to study what was known of Jedi philosophy and meditation techniques.

But secondhand information was nothing compared to experiencing the Jedi. To having them drop out of the sky, seemingly from the blockade ship itself. Or seeing them make quick scrap metal of battledroids, and then calmly take the situation at hand, as if no danger had just threatened them all. She'd seen Jedi acts fitting of the legends, and she'd seen them very real and one very broken.

Sabé tried to conceal her awe as she came alongside the tiny Jedi on the rock. Yoda's presence was vastly different than the serene, graceful air of the late Qui-Gon Jinn and the tightly coiled, closed energy of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Yoda was pure calm and peace. Perhaps she was imagining that power could be so still and yet so moving, perhaps she was delirious with exhaustion and her mind was really trying to coax her with the power of sleep . . .

"How did you know it was me?" she whispered, hoping to clear her obviously foggy mind.

The tiny, folded Jedi turned his head ever so slightly. The tips of his ear twitched and she sensed his amusement. "Spoke of you, Decoy, Kenobi has."

Sabé felt her cheeks begin to flush, but she forced the blood of shame not to rush up. Her decoy had not been perfect. She'd hoped her anxieties had bred paranoia, made her imagine the Jedi Knight's suspicion. Rabè and Eirtaè had tried to reassure her that the Jedi had dropped no hints, but Sabé had felt it better to believe her paranoia than the other handmaidens. Perhaps he had not actually hinted at his suspicion, but it didn't matter in the end—he'd figured it out and commended her after Amidala had unveiled the ruse before Boss Noss.

"_Or," Eirtaè had pointed out as she inspected a blaster scorch on her battle skirt, "he could have just said that. Maybe he's trying to make you feel bad because you pulled the hood over his eye."_

Sabé doubted it. He'd looked far too pleased with himself. Especially for someone about to go into battle.

"Ashamed of your duty, you should not be," said Yoda.

"No, Master Yoda," said Sabé. She stared at the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan had admitted Jedi were not psychic as commonly believed, but now she wondered if she shouldn't have believed him. "I'm not ashamed of my duty. Only that I failed it."

"Failed your duty, how have you, hmm?"

Although the Jedi continued to gaze out at the reflected moon over the far edge of the pond, Sabé felt as if he were staring straight at her.

She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it. Her duty was to protect the Queen. Amidala was alive and well. Exhausted, yes, but sleeping soundly back in her chambers. Sabé had protected her. She was not the singular reason Amidala or Naboo were safe, but she had done her part to the best of her abilities.

"I suppose I have not failed," she admitted after a moment. _Just have a little wounded pride_.

The wrinkles on Yoda's face moved, and Sabé thought she could see the traces of a smile on the sleepy-looking face.

"Hmm, duty," he murmured. "Hard it often is. Demands sacrifice. Perform great duty, you have, but rewarded for it, you are not."

Sabé frowned slightly at that. "We are not in service for reward, Jedi Master. Our honor is kept within ourselves." _In seeing our Queen alive, our planet safe._

"Hmm." The Jedi Master went silent for a moment, and then he said, "Understand duty, you do. Like the Jedi, yes." He paused, and although he wasn't facing her, Sabé could've sworn he was giving her a shrewd look. "Helped young Kenobi escape duty tonight, you did."

"I—" Sabé swore she heard a chuckle escape the Jedi Master. She tried not to stutter or fluster, and she came out sounding defiant. "With all due respect, Master Yoda, I only gave Jedi Kenobi my gratitude by giving him leave of an obviously trying and uncomfortable evening."

She thought about adding she'd seen cornered animals that looked more thrilled, but a chuckle had definitely escaped the Jedi Master. He finally turned to face her, amusement shining in those green, heavily-lidded eyes.

"Grateful, I am certain Kenobi is," he said.

Sabé felt a smile slip out of her control. She didn't mind being teased by this Yoda. He seemed to understand and forgive the blatant lie she'd told the Jedi Masters to let Obi-Wan escape the crowded, celebrating ballroom.

"It was the least Naboo could do." _But it doesn't come close to Master Jinn's death_._Or even equal what both of them gave us._

Yoda gazed up at her for a moment, then turned back to the pond. Sabé noticed he seemed to chew on his gnarly cane, reminding her of a teething toddler. She hoped instantly he really couldn't read her mind.

"Why sleep do you not?"

Sabé sighed and lowered herself to the soft ground beside the rock. Reeds with tiny pink buds swayed slowly, serenely near her feet. The water rippled gently around the living poles. "Too much excitement, I suppose," she said hesitantly. "I'm exhausted, but I could not . . . I felt the need to come out here. The garden's peaceful. Perhaps I need it after all of this—this stress."

She bit her lip, wondering if she sounded sulky or whiny. Many people had lost their lives in the battle for Naboo, and here she was, perfectly alive and healthy minus a scratch on her forearm. Her stress was nothing compared to what others must be suffering. _Like Obi-Wan._

Yoda seemed to hum under his breath. Sabé blinked slowly and stared down at her bare toes. Had she just lost whatever respect Yoda might have had for her? Did he see her as an immature girl unable to cope with her position, her responsibilities? Should she excuse herself and return to the chambers?

She didn't think his humming had grown louder, but the soothing, gravelly sound penetrated her embarrassed, sleep-deprived thoughts. Sabé's eyes drifted closed and her shoulders relaxed. Her mind became smooth, still fog over a glassy winter lake. Opaque, but light and silent. Quiet. Nature's blanket. It was like meditating, but she had not prepared herself for it, had skipped all the steps. Dipping . . .

"Feel the Force flow in you, I do," Yoda's voice drifted to her.

Sabé opened her eyes, but she did not fully surface from this wonderful floating sensation. The reeds were before her, but they were only part of this intangible liquid around her. "Yes, Master Yoda," she said, her voice thick and light all at once. It floated from her lips, seemed to bob over the tops of the reeds. "Just a little, I think. But the Naboo value family. My parents never asked for Jedi to come."

She felt no regret over this. As a child, strange incidents of keen intuition and senses, along with surviving some rough and tumble incidents with barely a scratch, had put her under suspicion by her instructors. But it could have also been merely sharp instincts and incredible luck. Her parents decided against Jedi inspection, despite the crèche mother's urging. It was her meditation instructor, Master Ranuna, who told Sabé there might be more to it. But there was no point—everyone knows that Jedi take only babies, Sabé doubted she would have been taken, anyway. So, she only spoke of it once with her parents, and then developed a bit more interest in the mysterious Jedi Order. When Captain Panaka chose her as a handmaiden, and then began weapons training her, Sabé started to believe maybe there _was_ something to her instincts.

But she told no one . . . She'd probably never see a Jedi, anyway . . .

"Not all the Force chooses are meant to become Jedi," said Yoda, his words seeming to move through this meditative current.

Sabé nodded slowly, her head swimming. She often meditated; it was a common Naboo practice valued by the artisans and philosophers. A practice learned in school and one Panaka ordered his handmaidens to do. But she'd never felt anything like this before. She could reach something close to this, but only in a very deep state. Now she felt she was barely dipping into this current, and if she only opened her mind a little more, sank just a little deeper, she would be swept up in something so overwhelming and powerful she would drown . . .

Yet she knew it wouldn't suffocate her.

The current stilled, the fog disappeared, and Sabé felt the early morning as she had before coming upon Master Yoda. It felt like coming into sharp focus only to have all the edges become slightly fuzzy, a little vague. The moon's silvery light was fading into gray. She didn't quite feel empty or that something was missing, but she wondered if she should.

She tilted her head up slightly to stare at Yoda. Sitting on the grass beside his perch on the rock, he only had a couple inches to look down at her. He smiled dreamily at her. Sabé vaguely pondered asking how he'd known, but it didn't seem important. Obi-Wan had sensed it; perhaps he'd told Yoda, or perhaps Yoda had discovered it himself. It didn't matter.

"Sleep well, youngling," he said, touching her forehead. "You must not walk wearily upon your path."

Sabé nodded slowly, feeling her body's need filling her mind. "Good night, Jedi Master," she whispered. "It was an honor to meet you. And thank you."

She couldn't remember standing up or making her way back to the Royal Chambers, but she woke with the sun, feeling refreshed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The Jedi Temple, long before Coruscant was completely covered in kilometers high skyscrapers, once stood upon a mountain. Few living Jedi remembered the lush vegetation blanketing the sloping sides or the rushing, soft roar of tumbling waterfalls and sparkling streams. Still fewer Jedi were aware of the Temple's foundations nestled into the mountain, of its tunnels and passages that once provided the Jedi with swift, secret routes outside of the haven. Long ago Coruscant had consumed the mountain, bled into and destroyed its paradise. The Jedi Temple surrendered its gardens and built upward, as if a monument to the natural formation buried under technology and consumption.

Sabé Mabriee knew the Jedi had salvaged what they could of their mountainside paradise, but she had never walked the Room of a Thousand Fountains, had never experienced the splendor encased in permacrete and metal. She was not of that world above her. She was the dark, crumbling tunnels long forgotten. She held their secrets, moved through them. Unknown. A secret herself.

All of this hovered at the edge of her mind as Sabé traveled silently in the Temple's womb. Her mind was focused and numb from her deep meditation with Master Yoda, but she sensed that somewhere—if she let it—her head would buzz, her heart would race, and her thoughts would collide in a frantic mess. But only if she let it. The meditation helped. That swell of the Force she could only access through Yoda. Power and humility, understanding and senselessness . . .

She was addicted to it.

A tunnel breeze fluttered against her cloak as Sabé paused before a narrow, water worn crevice in the stone passage. Closing her eyes, she concentrated. The Force, always there but only just, brushed against her, solid but feather light. She raised her palm and pressed it against the cool stone. Even with her eyes closed, she saw her hand become lost in the shadow of the crevice, lost to the soft, barely illuminated lighting. The stone bowed from her palm, from combined Force and physical pressure, and Sabé opened her eyes.

Without hesitating, she entered the dark chamber beyond, instinctively reaching for an old manual lightswitch just to her right. Light suddenly flooded the chamber.

_Home sweet home_, she thought sardonically.

"Home" was a small, round room with an old but serviceable sleep bench, a primitive, minimal refresher, and a trunk for her belongings. If anyone discovered this tiny hovel, he or she would find no clue as to its occupant. The bedding was standard, plain gray material, and the trunk, if not found empty, would only contain soap, food capsules, and possibly some generic clothing for a small humanoid.

Sabé moved to the small sink and again palmed stone indentions lost in shadow. A small compartment opened to her. Immediately she emptied its contents and carried them to the small bed. For a moment she paused, staring at the weaponry before her.

_Face Skywalker in combat, you shall not._

Slowly, she lifted a small, smoothly designed gun that fit in the palm of her hand. She studied the groove and holster where the toxic dart would slide. Never had she used it lethally, only for tranquilizing.

If her body had not been so tightly trained, her fingers might have trembled as they traced the contours of the trigger. But Sabé would not allow it. She holstered the gun, inspected the darts (she would have to fill them), and tested the small vibroblades. Everything that could not be carried or hidden inconspicuously on her person was packed carefully into a small travel rucksack.

Just as she stepped through the threshold, her chest fluttered. She paused, almost hearing her heart beginning to pound. _No._ If she waited another minute, she would start thinking, remembering . . . Touching the cool stone wall, Sabé steadied herself, forced her mind on the immediate.

She would have plenty of time to think in hyperspace.

Then she was back in the tunnel, her haven disappearing into the rock again. She followed a different passage that would take her out of the Temple. This one alternated between old, dried up water passages and tunnels carved by ancient, long dead Jedi. It was not lit, but Sabé knew the way well and only used a small glow rod for any unexpected surprises. About a half kilometer from her secret sleeping hole, she paused.

The faint blue light of her rod tried to penetrate the blackened shadow of a large niche, but Sabé knew it could not. Closing her eyes, she reached out with the Force; her limited, tentative grasp brushed against the darkness. It seemed to shimmer, though to the naked eye, the shadow was undisturbed.

Sabé opened her eyes and quickly stepped into the niche, her hands immediately landing on the speeder bike's handlebars. The solid, familiar grip anchored her, drove purpose and focus into her. She swung aboard, her rucksack safely on her back underneath her cloak. The speeder's front light illuminated the cracked and crumbling wall on the other side of the tunnel. If she squinted and used her imagination, she could almost decipher ancient carvings long worn by water, air, and time.

Almost. Now was not the time for scholarly endeavors.

Without wasting another second, Sabé launched the speeder into the tunnel and rocketed through the mountain. Familiarity and illumination kept her from smashing into the rock. She would have liked to go faster, but knew the limits of her piloting skills and her Force abilities. She welcomed the demanding focus of racing through the ancient mountain.

But even negotiating sudden turns and rises could not drive her immediate destination and purpose completely from her mind.

Toxin.

* * *

Even though the galaxy's wealthy considered Coruscant to be a jeweled emblem of galactic success and splendor, most of the planet was squalid, grimy, and corrupt. Some would consider it an obvious metaphor for the Republic Senate. The deep, shadowed canyons created by thousands of years of skyscrapers building atop skyscrapers certainly provided a nest for unsavory life. Most Coruscanti lived in perpetual night.

It had taken some getting used to, this seedy, disreputable place. For a Naboo girl born of successful merchants, trained in Theed Palace, and used to the noble environment, this place was her hell.

Though Sabé had developed a certain respect for the underworld hierarchy running Coruscant, she could not suppress her inner disdain and repulsion. Still, she entered the sleazy Scorched Bolt—a hangout for lowlifes, bounty hunters, dealers, and hot-shot swoop pilots—as one of them. Her dark gray cloak provided her anonymity, but disguises were as common as Corellian firewhiskey here.

She weaved through the crowd of sweaty, grimy, armed beings, seemingly to slip through tiny spaces like liquid, her cloak not even brushing against the drunk and sober. A few eyes followed her, out of curiosity or natural suspicion, but they soon lost interest. No one focused on her. Yoda had taught her well.

In the back of the Scorching Bolt were a set of refreshers that were always anything but fresh. The third from the last sported a buzzing, flickering sign reading _Out of Order_. Ignoring it, she entered in what had to be the Worst Fresher on Coruscant.

_If I never have to pass through here_, she thought. Trying not to retch at the overwhelming, pungent odor that practically stained the tainted air, Sabé hurried through the door on the far side.

Immediately cool, recycled but clean air engulfed her. She took a deep breath.

"Ah!" A small, lumpy creature exclaimed, swiveling around in a beat-up and patched chair.

Sabé suppressed an eye-roll at the theatrics. Squif had the refresher monitored and the door was unlocked only because he allowed it. There was no surprising Squif, however much he liked to gasp and gape, his large, glistening infant-like eyes popping with innocent surprise.

She stood immobile, waiting.

"Ah, Mari," he sighed, the whispery black hairs on his dull blue-green skin falling despondently. "Can you not humor an old fellow?"

Sabé didn't answer. Instead she pulled out a small flimsi and credits and set them on the small, cluttered but clean desk. She never spoke to Squif, never showed him her full face. But he remembered her, as he remembered everybody who made the awful, retching journey through his special anteroom.

Sighing again, Squif took the flimsi and credits. His already large-pupiled eyes widened and he scratched one of his pointed ears.

"No longer taking them alive, I see," he muttered.

Sabé remained silent. Squif assumed she was a bounty hunter.

"A powerful toxin . . . yes, yes . . . I've got it—don't like to hand it out, but, well . . ." Still muttering to himself, the creature hopped down from his chair, only the top of his head visible behind the desk. Toddling further back into the room lit only by small, cheap bulbs, he disappeared around a shelf.

Sabé waited, her eyes sweeping the cramped "office." When Master Yoda came to her five years ago, she would never have imagined her duty would take her here. Just yesterday she could not have predicted she would be turned into an assassin.

Assassin.

Her hands clenched reflexively under her cloak.

Sentenced to kill Anakin Skywalker. A hero of Naboo.

A Jedi.

Squif came toddling back into view, holding a small, cylindrical container gently in his hands. He set it carefully on the desk before climbing back into his chair. Twelve stubby fingers drummed the desk as he looked up at her nervously.

"You are familiar with the toxin?"

Sabé nodded.

"Ah. Yes." He swept the credits into his palm. "Ah, well. There you are."

She took the container and slipped it into a small holster on her hip. Too all appearances, it merely disappeared into the folds of her cloak. Bowing her head slightly, she departed.

* * *

Standing alone in a turbolift whisking her higher into Coruscant's traffic lanes, Sabé was left with nothing to do but dwell. The toxin container seemed to rest heavily on her hip, burning into the reminiscent calm of her meditation with Yoda. She rose into Coruscant's nightscape, feeling cold. The thick, gleaming display of chaotic lights, buildings, and transports was gradually thinning and spreading as the turbolift carried her. She felt so cold.

So_alone_.

Such a heavy feeling . . .

She quickly tried to accept it and urge it to flow away, but it continued to press. _I have my duty, my purpose. That is all I need_. She could chant these words, had done so many times, but she could not suppress the cold emotion threatening to break through her calm. Like those cold desert nights on Tatooine . . .

Sabé closed her eyes, trying to shut the memory away. She could not think of that time, could not think of past friendships. _Focus on the here and the now. What's done is done. No one can change the past, but everyone affects the present._

Underneath her cloak, her hands flexed, barely resisting the urge to clench. Fine enough words, but what if the present was confronting the past? The mission was bringing five years ago—_ten_ years ago—to bear. Her hands twitched. _Accept it and move on, as you should_. She had thought she had. The sting should be healed. Now she should be emotionless, a mere instrument. What mattered now was her duty.

"I will always have that," she whispered.

No one answered.

She shivered.

Duty, she'd come to realize, was a very lonely thing.

The turbolift continued upward. Its high cruising speed was lost in the incredible altitude of surrounding skyscrapers. Sabé looked across the city, not down. Even some of the natives suffered from vertigo.

Ten years ago she'd left this planet, planning to never come here again. Just a young, naïve handmaiden relieved to be leaving this terrifying monstrosity of a dead planet, even if she was returning to possible death on Naboo. If she were to ever see Coruscant again, it would be to attend the Queen during a diplomatic visit.

How little she'd known then.

The old skyscraper to her left fell away, and Sabé's eyes shifted to the open air. Only a few kilometers away, the Jedi Temple rose majestically into the night, all its surroundings bowing reverently before it. Her chest constricted at the sight of it. Such a glorious sight, if not for her place beneath it. If not for this mission.

For five years she had secretly served Yoda, and, indirectly, the Jedi. Most missions merely involved clandestine observation or subtle manipulations that not even the assigned Jedi were unaware of. Lately she'd been tracking bounty hunters who'd killed Jedi. It was frustrating work. Yoda suspected the increased interest in Jedi-hunting was not arbitrary, but the trail to the source always seemed to run cold. But she'd stopped two bounty hunters. Sabé could bear their blood on her hands, though she was perturbed nonetheless.

_But this_, she thought, closing her eyes against the Jedi Temple.

This would make her an assassin. A Jedi killer. But Yoda had said Anakin Skywalker had slaughtered. _Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. _Sometimes one death, Sabé knew, could save countless lives.

Yoda had been teaching her about the balancing act of the Force. She knew he constantly worried over the growing darkness, of how the light seemed to be yielding to it. Tonight he shared how the darkness had been increasing over the past seventy years, then manifold nineteen years ago, and now painfully . . .

_Of the prophecy, doubts I have. Still more of Skywalker. Disturbs the Force, his darkness does, Chosen One or not._

But the unsettling mission of assassinating Anakin Skywalker did not stop there.

Yoda told her he was on Tatooine. He could not confirm that Senator Amidala was with him, but he suspected it was so. He must have known the conflict broiling in Sabé, but he trusted her to set it aside. Sabé hoped he was right.

Despite everything that had taken place between her and the former Queen of Naboo five years ago, Sabé could not help but think she should have been there to stop the assassin. She had been off planet on another mission for Yoda when Senator Amidala's ship had been destroyed. At the news of the decoy's death, Sabé had known it should have been _her_. She did not seek death, but her duty had been to Amidala, and it was her place to receive her Lady's death. Sabé returned to Coruscant only the night the Jedi stopped the second assassination attempt, but she still felt as if she should have been the one to investigate it.

And now the former Queen was apparently in hiding, under the protection of Anakin Skywalker, while Obi-Wan Kenobi was tracing the bounty hunter's employer. Both duties Sabé was trained to fulfill, one in her former life and the other now—but both she had been denied.

_My duty is no longer to Amidala_, she told herself coldly.

The turbolift glided to a halt and its doors hissed open. Sabé opened her eyes and turned from the distant Jedi Temple.

She took a steadying breath, collecting herself and forcing her thoughts temporarily from her mind. _I can sort them out in hyperspace._

The moment she stepped out of the lift, she was stopped by a security booth. An armed guard stood next to the private hangar's entrance, while another waited within the booth. Wordlessly, Sabé swiped a special identification card through the booth's slot. Coruscant, being the galaxy's center for political, business, and private wealth intrigue, hosted many hangars such as this. Starfighters, yachts, and private ships used by special Republic agents were kept here. Sabé's identification card was only a number with no tracings to the Jedi or any other Senatorial organization.

The booth beeped and a light above the guard turned green. Sabé entered the hangar, knowing the guards were watching her on monitors. She could only access the ships given her number, but security was not left solely to computers.

Although the Jedi usually traveled through public or commercial transport, the Order did own a small fleet of various, economic starships and customized starfighters for special missions. They were kept in the Temple hangar. But the fleet was not entirely listed.

Sabé removed a tiny remote from her belt and pointed it at the hatch console of the small transport in stall _K-42_. A pinprick of light flashed across the panel, and then the hatch opened with a soft hiss, spilling light onto the floor. Her eyes swept admiringly over the curved hull of the ship. Its lines were not as sleek and beautiful as the ships in Theed's royal hangar, but they were smoother, cleaner than some of the other Jedi transports.

Without further delay, Sabé entered the transport. She knew every inch of it. Although she often took public transport like a Jedi, she had spent many a day in this two-seater cockpit. The small Lorian provided her hyperspace capability, obscurity, a place to sleep and eat, and small cargo hold that, if need be, could hold a prisoner or provide private interrogation.

Quickly she double-checked the food and power supply as the ship ran its own diagnostics. Her number identification cleared her of logging departure and hyperspace routes. To hangar security and Coruscant air control, she was, probably, a Republic Intelligence operative. Or—even _more_ likely—she had the money to _buy_ such clearance from the Republic.

A quiet beep from the computer console to her right interrupted the frown forming lines around Sabé's mouth.

She was clear.

The Lorian S-417 hummed in quiet anticipation as durasteel doors slide open like a large hatch. Multi-colored lights criss-crossed the open air as Sabé eased the small ship into an outbound express lane rising away from the city into the greater darkness of space. The navigation computer bleeped softly, almost rhythmically, as Coruscant interstellar control assumed authority over her departure.

As Sabé waited for her turn to jump, she recalled how Coruscant's dense, strictly controlled traffic and severely enforced traffic laws had once intimidated her. Now, however, she waited with ease. Even though she did not have to clear a hyperspace route officially through jump control, she still had to wait her turn. Yoda could have sent her through military, but it was usually better to avoid their prying eye.

Yoda.

Her mentor, her savior. She owed him her purpose, her life now as it was. Had he not sought her five years ago, taken her under his guidance, she hated to think where she'd be now. Perhaps she would have adapted. She was good at that. But she would have been lost, unfulfilled.

And yet. Sabé smirked ruefully as the navigation console's beeps turned to a trill and jump control gave her the green light. She piloted the ship to her designated jump point, eased the hyperdrive throttle up.

In the second it took the ship to disappear beyond lightspeed, Sabé distantly knew all this life, all this purpose Yoda had given her fused into this _and yet_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Life was just out of reach.

Standing at the bottom of the royal starship's ramp, Sabé could almost sense the life that must be nestled under the winking, flickering lights coming from the dark, navy horizon of Mos Espa. But between her and that life lay cold, dead, empty desert. She wanted to reach out with her hand and touch the distant lights, but the cold was too vast.

She shivered and her hands remained still at her sides. She knew she wasn't alone in this lifeless void. Rabé stood just two and a half meters up the ramp, silent and steady. The handmaiden was armed, as always, and watchful. Sabé knew the older girl was removed from the desert night, poised only for what it could threaten. She was in bodyguard mode.

Sabé desperately wanted to be there.

Lifting her eyes into the endless, star-studded blackness of Tatooine's night sky, Sabé fought another shiver. She knew she was dangerously close to self-pity, but she couldn't help it. The heavy, feathered headdress she'd removed for this momentary, secret excursion out of the ship still seemed to weigh upon her head and shoulders. Slowly she rotated her neck, but the heaviness remained.

She'd known the role of Queen bore a heavy burden. Amidala smilingly compared it to the role of handmaiden, "just with more bodies to guard and more people to dote on." But she had not felt it. Guarding Amidala's life and courting her spiritual health did not feel like a burden, or even, sometimes in the relaxed hours, like duty. It was her life, whether it was to bring a smile to Amidala's face, cool her temper, prepare her hair, or, the gods forbid, take a death strike.

Even when she donned the black travel gown and parted her bottom lip with the Scar of Remembrance, knowing she could be dead within the hour, Sabé had not felt the burden yet. Had not felt the lives at stake, had not felt the weight of fate bear down on her. Her heart had pounded with nervousness as her mind raced, but she'd composed herself in the aloof, emotionless mask that the Trade Federation had quickly come to know as Queen Amidala of Naboo.

But landing on this forsaken planet, removed, she felt it. A permanent cold, a crushing vice, a deep void. Amidala was gone, seemingly as far as Naboo itself. Rabé and Eirtaé were no longer her compatriots, her fellow handmaidens. They were her bodyguards, removed from her in a way Sabé had never experienced. Their attention was not just to her physical safety as Queen but to watch for her to slip, to blow the cover, or, far worst, make a fatal decision for Naboo. Especially now with that desperate, terrible message from Sio Bibble. Had she been right to do nothing? Should she have disobeyed the Jedi and taken the situation into her own hands? What would Amidala do? What would _she_ do?

Rabé shifted slightly, almost silently. _Come on. Let's get inside. You've been here long enough_.

Sabé did not move.

Rabé could roam the ship once the Queen retired to her private chambers. Sabé, as Queen, allowed the handmaidens small reprieves where she could, when it did not affect her presence in the throne room. Sabé could not. Tonight she was breaking her own protocol by wandering out of the ship's throne room and her quarters when most of the crew was resting.

_Breaking protocol for a round of self-pity_, Sabé thought guiltily. Her thoughts should be solely on Naboo, lost somewhere in Tatooine's foreign sky. All her waking hours should be spent on worrying over the fate of Saché and Yané and the rest of Naboo. But imagining her home under siege, so close but so far away, only brought her back to this closer, immediate situation.

Sabé let her eyes fall to the sand before her. Silver in the moonlight, it was even deader to her than the holo Panaka had shown her after landing.

Just as she had the urge to bend down and touch it, she sensed another presence behind her. A tingling presence.

Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Sabé forced absolute stillness in her body, fastened her eyes on the distant pinpricks of light. Here was her greatest challenge: the Jedi. She could not slip even the slightest around them. So far, she thought she might be doing well. She thought the pressure might ease when Qui-Gon Jinn and Amidala had left for the spaceport, but then an uneasiness started to plague her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she swore Obi-Wan Kenobi was studying her intently. She had no evidence, and the calm, logical part of her reasoned that Jedi naturally studied those under their guardianship.

But she still couldn't shake her paranoia.

And she was too afraid to ask Rabé and Eirtaé about something else that was bothering her.

The Jedi had silently come to the bottom of the ramp. Standing just behind her shoulder, he bowed respectfully. "Your Highness."

Sabé turned only slightly in acknowledgement. She had a good inkling what he would say next.

"Perhaps Your Ladyship would care to return to the ship?" said Jedi Kenobi. His voice was neutral, but Sabé heard a trace of underlying authority.

_No, I care not to,_ she wanted to say. She almost did.

"In a moment," Sabé said quietly in her Queen voice, turning away.

"Then I must stay."

Sabé did not answer. Even if she protested, she had a feeling she'd lose against the finality in those quiet words. Behind her, Rabé shifted ever-so-slightly, and Sabé almost smiled. The handmaiden was probably insulted.

Barely a minute passed, and Sabé fought the urge to look sharply at the Jedi. She had an intense sensation of being watched. A quick, deft glance out of the corner of her eye only revealed Kenobi to be gazing steadily out at the desert. Yet she suspected he was studying her as much as the bleak landscape. Watching without appearing so—a technique handmaidens were trained to do.

But she must have failed this time, because Jedi Kenobi's blue-gray eyes slid to her. He barely raised an eyebrow and managed to look completely innocent and unassuming. Sabé quickly looked away again. Her left thumb played with the long, open sleeve of her black cloak. She almost bit her lip, but remembered her mask.

She had to speak, had to distract.

"How long do you think we will be here, Jedi Kenobi?"

There. She'd asked this before in the throne room, but that had been a few hours ago. Perhaps he would provide a different answer, or maybe not. But it was a safe question.

"Qui-Gon has a possible lead," said Kenobi. "It could be a matter of days, but . . . circumstances are always in motion." He paused. "Do not worry, Your Highness. Qui-Gon usually gets his way."

Sabé faced him. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Usually?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi almost smiled, but his face was completely serious. "He will. If the first plan falls, there will be another." Although his passive expression did not change, Sabé swore his eyes intensified on her, as if he was looking _into_ her. "It was not a mistake to put your trust and fate in our hands."

Sabé, somehow, did not break his gaze. But inside she wondered, _Does he know I fear I've handed over too much control?_ But Amidala had approved of this, for which Sabé was both grateful and uncertain about. Did the Queen not have faith in Sabé's ability to govern? _That's my fear talking_, she told herself. She had no reason to be insulted or insecure about the Queen's decision. The Jedi were no strangers to these sorts of situations; it was why they were here. To help.

Feeling calmer now under Jedi Kenobi's steady presence, Sabé gazed out at the desert again. Loneliness and desolation still blew across the sands, but she could feel the fading warmth left from Tatooine's suns. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the young Jedi. His intense gaze was again seemingly patrolling the sand, handsome face passive. Motionless, only the night breeze fluttering his robe, brushing the spiky tips of his hair. Everything about him spoke of tight control, of energy burning under serenity. She'd seen it burst out with fluid, flaring grace as he disposed of battledroids, and calmly, silently fold back into him the moment the battle was over.

Kenobi's eyes finally fell to her again. In his closed face, she saw youth and age worn much like Queen Amidala's royal mask. A face she wore now.

Then the Jedi raised an eyebrow, as if to say _What?_

"Something's troubling you, Jedi Kenobi," Sabé said. She did not mean to, but it slipped out.

The irony of her words was not lost on him. She detected a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"We both have reason to watch the lights, Your Highness," he said mildly. As an afterthought he added, "I'm not sure Qui-Gon is pleased about you sending a handmaiden to supervise."

"Then, perhaps, he is in great need of it."

Obi-Wan—Jedi_Kenobi_—cleared his throat and flashed her a quick, amused look. The brief lack of stoicism did wonders for his face, and Sabé saw a trace of boy.

"Perhaps," he said neutrally. He stared out over the moving, ghostlike sands.

Sabé could see he wanted to be out there as well, not stuck on this small, crowded ship. Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to be _doing_ something about the situation, not sitting, stewing, waiting for someone _else_ to deliver a solution. He was worried, she could tell. Worried, perhaps, about his Master who needed supervising. She could see and feel this, because it was the same for her.

Standing beside the quiet Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sabé experienced deep empathy. Here was someone abandoned among complete strangers, risking his own life for a cause not his own. The one person he knew, the only one he could trust or share his concerns with, was kilometers away doing gods-know-what.

"Perhaps," she said quietly, "it is this desert that makes everything seem so bleak."

The Jedi turned to her. She thought, for a moment, he was going to ask her what she meant, play innocent and evasive. But then he smiled softly and dropped his head like a little bow to her.

"Then it is not as lonely as I thought."

Sabé returned his smile, thoroughly warmed. They both looked back at Mos Espa, and suddenly the lights did not seem so tiny, so far away. She fancied, for a moment, that she could actually reach out and touch them.

"You are right," she said. Obi-Wan looked at her, brow furrowed. Sabé felt she could have sighed regretfully but did not need to. "I should return to the ship."

Nodding, Obi-Wan followed her as she started up the ramp. She could imagine the relief on Rabé's obscured face. Once they were inside the ship, the handmaiden fell behind Sabé, only a half step behind Obi-Wan's own flanking position. Rabé wordlessly sealed the ramp, and stayed silently behind Sabé when she turned to the Jedi.

"Thank you for your protection, Jedi Kenobi," she said formally. Behind her, she was sure Rabé was trying not to scowl. As if Sabé_needed_ protection . . .

"An honor, Your Highness," Kenobi said, bowing. His eyes locked with hers, and although he once again used a neutral voice, there was a hint of command there. "But if Your Highness wishes to leave the ship again, I _must_ be informed and accompany you."

Sabé tried not to grin. "I understand. Good night, Obi-Wan."

She saw his eyes widen slightly, but she was already turning away, Rabé on her heels.

* * *

Hyperspace is boring.

On a public transport, travelers are entertained by onboard casinos, holovids, and recreation areas for the hours or days spent in blue-mottled void. While civilians caroused around the decks, Sabé was either already executing the mission or preparing for it. When traveling alone in her small ship, she used the time to study the information required for her mission and meditate in preparation. Yoda provided her access to the Jedi Temple archives. Countless hours had been spent in his quarters or hyperspace reading files on active Jedi and the Order's history. On an "ordinary" mission, Sabé would likely have her feet resting atop a cleared space of panel, datapad resting in her lap, eyes devouring information.

But not this mission.

Sabé knew the files by heart.

She paced up and down the small, narrow passage from the cockpit to the tiny hold. Her movement was not nervous nor agitated but focused, relieving excess energy that could turn into negative tension if bottled. She did not see the soft, soothing gray-blue interior of the craft; her eyes were turned inward as her mind clerically rifled through the fastidiously read files of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

Even before Yoda had assigned her to observe three of their missions, Sabé had followed the active, constantly updated files on the Master and Padawan. Yoda knew but did not seem to mind. She hardly needed to be briefed when it came to observing the pair.

Kenobi and Skywalker seemed to be aggressively, perpetually stalked by trouble. Simple missions went awry, but they generally ended well. From the files and Sabé's own observations, it seemed that Obi-Wan had to spend half the missions keeping his Padawan in check. Although Anakin had quickly and amazingly surpassed other Padawans his own age in physical Force skills, he was lagging far behind in everything else. The Temple notes did not list speculation over this. Yoda only offered a little of his thoughts on the unprecedented acceptance and training of Skywalker, but Sabé suspected he did not want Obi-Wan saddled with Skywalker.

"_Knows better than I do, the Force does," _she heard him mutter once. _"Learn much from this, Kenobi will."_

Sabé paused, remembering reading about that particularly eventful mission log. Yoda had peered over shoulder, muttering about it. Now, as she hurtled along the Corellian Run, she wondered how _this_ mission would appear in the log.

Would it be the last entry under Skywalker? Or would _she_—

"No."

Sabé shook her head firmly and started forward again.

But the walk was short, and all too soon she was heading aft, right where she'd dropped her dangerous thought. A ridiculous urge to remain forward almost overcame her, but Sabé scowled at it and continued to the back. It was utterly foolish—non_sen_sical—to think her anxious, treacherous thoughts would be waiting for her.

Even so, she did a quick about-face just before she reached the cargo hold.

Even so, another hissing thought entered her head.

_What about Kenobi? What will this do to _him

Sabé halted, a nasty taste in her mouth.

And then she was there, back in the generator pit. The small squad Panaka had sent to find the missing Jedi were at her back, waiting her command, but they were not really there at all. Only Obi-Wan was there, kneeling over a limp body—a _dead_ body. And it was all so silent, all so numb. But then it _hurt_ and she spun, the floor ached under her knees, but that wasn't quite right . . .

Obi-Wan did not move. Did not breathe. Like the body. Only cold, painful waves flooding the room, suffocating, drowning . . . Dried tears streaked through dried sweat on his blank face. The waves of unbearable anguish invisible in the room filled his eyes, giving full vision to emotion. Sabé's lungs succumbed, her throat closed, and she had to look away. Black spots danced with the waves, filling her eyes, filling her lungs . . .

But then he breathed for her.

A shallow, trembling breath.

She could draw a shaky breath and look back.

Not at the body. At Obi-Wan. Drawing the waves into himself, absorbing every agonized, grieving drop, letting her breathe. He was tightening, pulling it in like a tide, all his energy closing over it, water-tight, sealed. The pain was fully his, locked behind tense, hard blue eyes.

"He's with the Force now," he whispered. The words were for her. He had nothing for himself.

Sabé blinked.

She stared up the ship's corridor to the viewscreen twirling through hyperspace. Her chest pounded urgently, as if she had not been breathing properly. She took a slow, deep breath, allowing the urgency to leave in exhale. The past did not matter. Only the now. She could not think about how the success of her mission would affect someone on the other side of the galaxy.

She could not feel.

It was time to meditate.

* * *

She was a tool.

A mere instrument, an extension of something greater. An appendage extending forth with purpose. Clear-headed and focused, undeterred by personal . . . ineffectiveness. The mindset of a tool—a _knowing_ and _accepting_ tool—is not blank and mindless. Her mind calculated, constantly but distantly weighing the facts and possibilities of the operation set for this tool. Personal uneasiness and concern were tucked and folded, neatly set on a shelf to be studied and measured with the facts. They were merely factors of the equation, an effect, physical and emotional numbers arranged and calculated for an outcome. They should balance. To let one overweigh the other resulted in foolish, headlong, and blind actions.

A tool was not a blind.

The Lorian S-417 approached Tatooine's night side. The planet hung corpse-like, its northeastern curve glowing pale gold from the twin stars light years behind it. Dayside of Tatooine would appear just as dead as the night, its warm glow just as desolate and disheartening as the cooling shadow.

As Sabé guided the Lorian into the almost vacant local space, the former bodyguard allowed a small, inner shake of her head. Anakin Skywalker had a lot to learn about safeguarding a hunted politician. Even before his vision, Yoda had known that Skywalker had left Naboo, thanks to the former Head of Security's denial over true retirement. Captain Panaka, as he would always remain in Sabé's mind, continued to pester and "advise" the Royal Security Force, and had informed the Jedi Master when he noticed one of the smaller Royal cruisers had been cleared under High Authority. But Queen Jamillia was not spacebound, nor any of the council members with authority to use the fleet under classified, unquestionable conditions. Just months before Sabé's dismissal, Panaka had installed an inner networked tracking system in the Royal Fleet, a vestige of his paranoia from the Trade Federation's occupation. The moment he'd confirmed the cruiser was on Tatooine, he knew exactly who was aboard.

The former captain had pondered whether it was a decoy to entice another assassin into the open, but Yoda and Sabé doubted it. While the Senator loved these tricks and ruses, Skywalker was much more straightforward. And Tatooine held something for him more than a hot, sandy hideout with no security.

Controlled by the Hutts, Tatooine was a free-for-all hive for the wretches of the galaxy. Hutts provided what passed as security here. Those born on the planet wanted to leave. Foreigners were either fugitives and underworld opportunists or the unwilling products of misfortune, as the Naboo had been ten years ago. Someone in the market for an underhanded deal could go to Nar Shadda, but if he wanted a better chance of living, Tatooine was his next best bet.

Anakin Skywalker, though a native, had a lot to learn. He had unwittingly led Sabé here to Tatooine. All those sand dunes, craggy canyons, and vast, empty desert. Where the only authorities were kings of underworld bounty hunting.

The perfect place for an assassin.

Now all Sabé needed to do was hack into the Naboo inner network. Had Panaka waited a few more months, this would be impossible, and her tracking would take longer, if not come to a dead end. But Sabé had been one of the silent highest in the tight-knit world of Naboo security. Panaka irrevocably trusted the Queen's life to her. The former handmaiden would be appalled by this breach of trust, but the tool only acknowledged this and focused on what that trust and breach meant, how it served her. She knew the system. It would take some time, but she felt certain she could tap the private beam.

Sabé set the Lorian in a near-distant orbit around Tatooine. She had to stay clear of spaceport traffic, where her hovering presence would be noticed, but she also needed to be close enough to decipher the private Naboo signal and channel it. Landing on the planet allowed for more interference, both from planetary communications and enterprising fiends. And if events did not go smoothly—as they are disinclined to—an observing orbit would provide more possibilities.

And, Sabé had to admit, she had no desire to be on Tatooine longer than necessary.

Once the small cruiser settled in its orbital path, moving smoothly above the planet's rotation, Sabé engaged the communications computer. In a very distant corner of her mind, a young handmaiden sighed. Panaka would never have expected his extensive, rigorous security training to be put to such use. But that was no reason to ignore her resources. Such negligence went against all of her training, past and present.

And it was the present that mattered.

In the present, she must be mindful of the future.

Unfortunately, the Lorian was not equipped with advanced hacking instruments, and so Sabé had to subtly, gently, coax. If she'd had the proper technology, she would have known the problem less than five minutes into the intrusion. Just as the hours were starting to agitate and frustrate her, just as she was beginning to doubt her ability to even_begin_ to trace the Nubian cruiser's signal, the private channel pinged three times.

Blinking out of her concentrated daze, Sabé stared at the blinking channel for a minute. Then it trilled, as if scolding her immobility.

She knew the sound. A coded, pre-recorded message from Yoda. How long had it been in the ship's receiving computer? Why hadn't she noticed it before?

Quickly she entered the decryption key engrained in her mind and fingertips. The Jedi Temple did not communicate over the HoloNet, but its network was far greater than the small, isolated one she had spent the past hours trying to find. Although the Jedi coded network was impenetrable, Yoda had his own secret link. She'd often wondered if the Temple technicians had any idea of just how far Yoda's knowledge extended.

In less than a minute, Sabé was staring at a tiny, flickering image of Master Yoda. Even before her spoke, before the message played, an inky sensation crept up her back. The tiny, translucent Jedi carried deep foreboding across the galaxy, and Sabé saw him as he'd gazed sadly upon her in the Temple chamber.

"Grave news, I bring," spoke Yoda. "Discovered the Separatist leaders' stronghold, Jedi Kenobi has. Captured, he was. Inform me, Panaka did, that left Tatooine Senator Amidala's ship has."

_That's why I couldn't lock on to anything,_ Sabé realized.

"To Geonosis, to Obi-Wan, I believe they have gone," Yoda continued, unable to break for Sabé's mind to race over his words. "Follow them, you must not." The transmission seemed leaden under the Jedi Master's sigh. "A battle, there will be. Discovered a clone army, Kenobi has. Surrounds it, great mystery does. Many Jedi will die, I fear." The Jedi Master paused, and Sabé knew he was feeling those deaths, as if they were happening during the message's recording.

"Patience, you must have, young Mabriee," he said quietly but sternly. "Do not enter the Geonosis system. Wait for me, you must. May the Force be with you."

The message flickered out into loud silence.

Sabé sat very still as Tatooine moved miles beneath her.

At these times of isolation, she almost forgot the state of the galaxy around her.

She should not, because her missions, even the seemingly passive ones, involved the turmoil in the Republic. The past five years were like a disillusioning veil, lifting higher and higher, revealing the ugly, rotting innards of the crumbling Republic. And it just kept lifting. When she collected the trophy Padawan braids off a cold-hearted bounty hunter, she knew with a sickening gut the braided deaths in her fist were a result of corrupt politicians. When the bounty trail always seemed to run cold, she felt the financial backers of the Separatists laughing at her. But she also smelled the stank of Senate committee representatives collecting money and "friends" when cries of injustice echoed behind them.

She'd suppressed eyerolls and scowls when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine regretfully, helplessly, apologetically spoke to the Queen of the Senate's move to keep him beyond term. Of how he truly did not wish to hold onto the great power of leading the galaxy, but if the galaxy which he served believed it to be in its best interest, he could not possibly refuse.

The Separatist figurehead, a former Jedi Master, carried the banner of outright disgust with the Republic's corruption, of the Senate's bickering and financial politics. But Sabé did not buy his idealist banner-waving. He was backed by the Trade Federation.

And politicians were all the same.

Once, Sabé had amended her misgivings. She'd grown up in a world of ideologies and moralities, had been schooled in freedom in peace. Politics on Naboo were less suspicious and more of a bore. The inevitable corruptions were continually remedied, stamped on, blasted by a charismatic, idyllic leader. Oh, there was the usual bickering, the bouncing back and forth, but the power plays were a smaller scale, less devastating.

Sabé had not intended to enter the political world, and even on peaceful Naboo, she had her doubts about those in positions of power. But Queen Amidala had shown Sabé power could be wanted not for its own sake, but for the good of the people, the ideologies insincerely toted by the dishonest. Ten years ago, Sabé discovered a politician with belief, with conviction, with heart. A brilliant mind and tongue, Amidala could make anyone believe in ideal democracy.

But, in the end, they were all the same.

Sabé stood from the computer console.

In the end, politicians said and believed whatever they wanted, whatever worked to their best advantage.

Body tight, rigid with tension, Sabé stared down at Tatooine. Far below she could see Mos Espa's pinprick lights. She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. The momentary meditation forced her dark thoughts from her mind, letting her focus on the situation at hand.

Yoda's message was not filled with details. He trusted her to gather information that did not need to be repeated over the private channel and waste precious seconds. Sabé terminated her covert operation on the comm computer and switched on the HoloNet receiver. Quickly, she scanned the official news bulletins, piecing together Yoda's words, her own observations, and the Republic's official current state of being.

The Senate voted to grant Supreme Chancellor Palpatine emergency powers. Naboo Representative Binks, operating under the authority of the absent Senator, moved for the immediate assembly of a Republic army. Now that their absent leader wishes seemed to have change, the hypothetical army's opposition swung their vote.

Sabé bowed her head, trepidation filling her.

Now she fully understood the foreboding in Yoda's message. She did not understand or fathom what a clone army had to do with this, or how Kenobi's bounty tracking had stumbled onto it, along with the Separatist stronghold. She did know, however, that she had a bad feeling about it.

Pressing her lips together in a tense, grim line, Sabé pulled Geonosis up on the HoloNet's planetary information bank. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not recall anything about it. Its entry on the HoloNet was one of the shortest Sabé had ever read. Although a close neighbor of Tatooine (she must have heard the name in school when studying Naboo's neighboring systems), it did not even attract the riffraff supporting the dustbowl's commerce. Arid and surrounded by an asteroid belt, Geonosis was isolated and considered hostile by the side note next to the image of the red planet.

Why had the Separatists rooted there? How did Obi-Wan Kenobi wind up there? How did they manage to capture him? How could Skywalker take the Senator there? What of these clones? What did they have to do with this? And why were so many Jedi going to die in a battle?

Sabé had no answers.

And as badly as she wanted them, she knew she must wait as Yoda had instructed. She could not follow Skywalker to Geonosis.

But she could leave Tatooine. She no longer had reason to be here.

Grateful for something to do, however briefly, Sabé pulled the cruiser out of its orbit. Tatooine fell behind her, growing smaller and smaller behind the orange-white glow of her afterburners. When she was out of the Tatoo system, sitting in a dead, empty section of space bypassed by the Run, Sabé settled down to meditate again.

Just before she opened herself to the Force, Sabé felt the poignant difference between her solitary meditations and those shared with Yoda. She craved that total, overwhelming immersion. For most of her life, she had always known, always felt, she was only a small, miniscule part of something bigger, that the small universe that was herself was only a tiny particle in something greater. But only in those wondrous meditations with Yoda, being so fluid and permeable in the overpowering flow of the Force, did she truly _feel_ it, _know_ it.

But all alone, with only her limited power and connection, Sabé could only feel the near surroundings of her particle. She knew it was all there, that really the limit was her, not the Force. Here, with more inner focus, with an actual _self_, Sabé felt smaller, lesser. Once, she'd spoken to Yoda of this paradox, but the Jedi had seemed more pleased than troubled.

Letting go of this memory, of her inhibition, Sabé opened herself to Force. She did not even settle into her meditation before it filled her with disturbing pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Death.

_This is real death_.

Reflected in glossy black, marked by scorches, burns. _This is real death,_ she thought. Before this day, before this moment, she had never seen it. Funeral pyres were not death. Those bodies, shadowed behind brilliant, dancing flames, were not death. The souls were gone, having slipped peacefully, naturally away. Death was long absent from them, those bodies lying empty and shelled on the stone. Death had not come to them, had only accepted them.

_This is real death._

Death was without time. An eternity must have passed, but she doubted eternity meant anything for death. Death also had no words, no language, no expression. She felt her lips move to say, _"I've never seen a dead body before. I've never seen death."_

Nothing . . . she could not even whisper.

Sabé could only close her eyes. Finally.

_This is real death_.

Someone shifted behind her. One of the palace guards. Sabé opened her eyes, absorbing the deep, glossy floor. More death awaited them. She had passed it in search of this one, had passed so _much_.

She slowly turned her heavy yet empty head to Obi-Wan. He had not moved since he had softly validated death. The words had rendered him to perfect stillness. She wondered, numbly, how time had passed, or if it had stopped, too. But the quiet, subdued lives behind her were brushing against this stillness; time must be passing, life had not stopped, not completely.

They just had to find it.

Sabé started to move. Pain seemed to burst from her knees, and she almost cried out at the shock of _feeling_. But she stifled it. Only her battle skirt whispered as she shifted to stand.

A hand suddenly clenched her wrist. Enclosing it. Stopping everything.

"Wait."

Sabé swallowed, frozen. One word, but it had been choked out, thrust through hard anguish. Obi-Wan's hand gripped her small wrist like a vice. She feared, for a tiny instant, he would drown her again.

Maybe he sensed her fear, because he finally turned to her. She almost gasped, but she had no breath. Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes were not naked with pain, only thinly shrouded by a threadbare veil she felt, if pulled only a little tighter, strained a little more, would unravel completely.

"Just . . ." Obi-Wan's frayed eyes fell away from her face, and Sabé's heart wrenched. "Just a moment," he said, a soft plea.

Sabé nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

Obi-Wan bowed his head over his fallen Master. His hand on her wrist tightened for a brief, very painful moment, but Sabé uttered not a sound. She kept very still, her eyes on Obi-Wan's trembling profile. She held no awareness of her breathing, only the way the Jedi's silent inhale seemed to draw in the inky, lost depths of the floor. Something soft and whispery seemed to undulate from within her, but she could not concentrate or focus on it. Then Obi-Wan exhaled, his shoulders seeming to roll, slide down with the silently released breath. His hold on her eased gently, soothingly.

Another moment passed, and Sabé realized she was kneeling beside Obi-Wan at _the_ moment of his life.

Obi-Wan released her hand before she could absorb this, could fully comprehend its spinning effect. She watched as Obi-Wan Kenobi lifted his dead mentor into his arms with gentle grace that should not be physically possible. It would be absurd, if not for the intense concentration on the young but aged man's closed face.

Sabé stood with him, finding the pain in her knees welcoming. She felt stiff and weak.

Obi-Wan wordlessly carried Qui-Gon Jinn away from the spot of his death. Turning with him, she automatically felt her Queen mask falling over her. She saw the six palace guards, her command. They were exhausted from battle. A stunned, palpable grief clung to them, but there was grim triumph there, too. She had seen it in the throne room as she ordered them to follow her.

They were tired, ragged, but they were strong. She had to be strong, too.

The stony mask she wore as Queen Amidala settled over her face comfortingly. Sabé wondered, vaguely, if she should even use it. She had led these five men and one woman through battle. They knew who she was. But the mask, trained unto her like a second skin, she served well. Now it would serve her.

Balen, the senior private of her little group, took a step forward and nodded to her. "My lady?"

Sabé stared at the man for a second. He was awaiting orders. She wished, for that second, he had limped her along, given her a directional question. But only for a second. She might have left that conspicuous headdress in the throne room, but she could still command.

"Inform the Captain we've found the Jedi," she said, her voice low and calm. The Queen's voice. She almost winced at how harsh her words sounded. But then she hesitated, just the slightest, over her next words. "Ask to have a gurney meet us."

She doubted anyone missed the small tremor. Balen's eyes flicked to the Jedi, then back to her. "Yes, m'lady," he said dutifully before going for his comlink.

Obi-Wan, silently carrying his burden, moved forward. Sabé opened her mouth to tell him to wait for the gurney, but she quickly shut it and signaled to her guards to return through the now inactive shield corridor. She and Obi-Wan followed.

Her eyes followed the scorch marks of the lightsaber battle. It felt like a lifetime ago when she had traced these slashing burns to the generator pit. She'd been reeling from battle, her heart pounding, her mind racing, her adrenaline still pumping and churning as she retraced the battle over the dead soldiers and shattered battledroids. She had passed so many, acknowledging the death around her, but not really seeing it, not yet. They were dead, they were bodies, they were life shattered and destroyed by fiery hot energy, but she had not been able to stop for them. She was chasing death down, then, chasing down her fear of finding the Jedi dead. She'd been running on pure hope but pushed on by dread.

But now she saw the evidence of blackened battle in reverse. The first ones they passed were the closest to death. Each mark took them a little farther from it. Yet she knew at the end of the corridor, at the end of the catwalks, lay more death. Each step that brought her farther from death also brought her closer to it.

_This is real death_.

"You're hurt."

Sabé startled slightly and looked at Obi-Wan uncomprehendingly. Ahead of her, the Naboo guard paused as Balen's comlink crackled. They were standing just within the cavernous chamber networked with the narrow walkways the engineers used to operate the plasma mine.

"What?"

Obi-Wan tilted his head. "Your arm."

Sabé stared at him another second. Concern creased his brow, deepened the blue in his eyes, pulled his grim mouth down.

"Oh," she said. She followed his gaze to her right arm and fingered the hasty bandaging around her forearm. Now it had her attention, she could feel the itchy ache of the blaster burn, but it was only a vague memory of the blazing pain it had been. The cooling salve was helping.

"It's just a scratch," she said, shrugging. Grimly she thought, _I got off lucky._

Obi-Wan's frown, if possible, deepened for a moment. Sabé fought the urge to rotate her stiff arm. How could he be worrying about her when he was carrying his dead master in his arms?

Balen and the others were moving forward again, and Sabé tore her stare away from Obi-Wan. The dismal group boarded the service lift to return to the hangar level where Panaka would have someone waiting with the gurney. The Naboo, she could see, were trying hard not to stare at the Jedi Master's body. Their eyes looked everywhere but at the Jedi.

Sabé, head bowed slightly, studied Obi-Wan from underneath her lashes. He was staring down at the floor past Qui-Gon's body. A light sweat had broken out on his temples from the strain of carrying such a large man. She wondered just how far physically and emotionally Obi-Wan Kenobi had been pushed today. _How far all of us are,_ she added silently.

The lift halted with a gentle bump. Obi-Wan's head lifted and he blinked, as if coming out of a trance. His eyes clouded, turning almost deep gray.

Sabé turned to see two figures standing next to an empty gurney. Just beyond them through the open hangar doors, she could see remnants of battledroids strewn across the polished stone floor. Her eyes fell to burgundy, orange, and blue uniforms of fallen Naboo, of the dead she had passed before.

The stiffness in her arm spread through her body, but her knees weakened as she followed her guard toward the gurney. She focused on the faces of the young healer apprentice and the graying palace aid. The apprentice, donned in his light blue tunic, stared nervously at the Jedi, a blaster clutched awkwardly to his chest. Sabé noted the safety was still on. Toma Rulon was also armed, but she held the blaster at her side in a cold, disdainful manner, and her lined face held tired, saddened eyes.

"Her Highness was asking about you, m'lady," said Toma quietly. "You were gone a long while."

Sabé only nodded.

"Raoul, here, will escort the—the b-bod—" Toma paused, looking uncertainly at Obi-Wan.

"To the palace healing wing, of course," said Sabé. She nodded to Raoul, who looked very pale and very young, though he could not have been any younger than her. He quickly stepped aside for Obi-Wan.

The Jedi did not move. Sabé could see the conflict.

"Obi-Wan," she said softly. Gently, she touched his arm just above where Qui-Gon was braced against him. Through the sweat-dampened cloth, she could feel hard, straining muscle trembling under the weight. Her fingertips brushed burnt fabric, and, seeing more such marks, she suddenly wondered just how close Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to death as well.

Obi-Wan nodded, bringing Sabé's eyes upward again, saving her fingers from clenching impulsively over his sleeve. He moved forward and she stepped back, watching with a heavy heart as the Padawan carefully, gently lowered his Master onto the hovering gurney. Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon Jinn's forehead and bowed his head, eyes closed.

_Good-bye._

Sabé turned away. She could not watch such a private moment.

Instead she saw more death.

Sabé moved slowly toward one fallen form. Tremblingly, she knelt down beside him and reached out, pulling the shoulder back to see the face.

She gasped.

Empty, vacant brown eyes stared up at her. Her vision blurred as she touched the dark, ashen hole in his chest. When had he been hit? She tried to remember, tried to sort through the chaos of laser fire and lightsabers and starfighters. She should know. She had been there. Hadn't she? She tried to remember.

A steady hand gripped her shoulder. Sabé remembered the ripping moment of agony throwing her back. _I'm dead! _ She was falling, expecting to fall forever. But then strong arms caught her, braced her, and she was pulled away from the fire . . .

"_Sabé!"_

"_I . . . I'm all right."_

"_Your arm—"_

"_Oh, gods—"_

"_Wait! You can't go back out there! You're shot!"_

"_I can fire left-handed as well."_

"_You're mad—Sa—just stay with me."_

When did he fall? He'd guarded her, but she had not focused on her own safety. Did he die because he'd guarded her, shielded her from deadly fire meant for the Queen? Did he die right there at her feet without her knowing?

_This is real death_.

"Sabé."

A warm, live hand pulled her fingers away from the killing wound. Sabé blinked rapidly. Why couldn't she see properly?

"Sabé."

She shook the hand away and wiped furiously at her eyes. What was wrong with them?

The hand on her shoulder seemed to pulse, but a corner of her mind thought this ridiculous. But the notion was strangely soothing, clearing her head. She realized she couldn't see because she was crying. Sick and lightheaded, she gave her eyes another swipe, then blinked to clear them. She thought, perhaps, that the tears had stopped.

"Sabé."

Obi-Wan.

Sabé breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them.

"Did you know him?" he asked softly.

"No," she said hoarsely. "Not really. But—but I think he d-died protecting m-me."

Obi-Wan squeezed her shoulder gently. Then she saw his other hand pass over the staring, vacant eyes of the dead man, closing them. Sabé stared a moment, then slowly turned to Obi-Wan, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Did I sob?" she asked, feeling foolish. Underneath her undoubtedly smeared mask, her cheeks flamed. Had she lost it in front of her command, Raoul, Toma, and Obi-Wan?

"No," Obi-Wan said gently. "You were very quiet about it."

Sabé looked at him searchingly. She swore if there had been any room for anything but pain in his eyes then, they would have twinkled.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

The Jedi looked away, his hand sliding off her shoulder. He stood without another word and walked away. Sabé felt even sicker. Shakily, she rose and followed the Jedi back to the group assembled around the gurney. Raoul and Toma, with the help of the guards, had lifted five other fallen Naboo onto other gurneys.

"We'll take these to the healing wing," said Toma, looking at Sabé, "then return for . . . more."

The handmaiden nodded numbly. She could feel eyes of her fellow Naboo on her. Waiting. She stared at them blankly for a long moment.

"The boy," Obi-Wan said suddenly. Everyone startled and looked at the Jedi. There was a hint of wildness, a bit of sudden panic, in his hard eyes. "Anakin," he said tightly, looking around. "Where is he?"

But it sounded like _Is he dead, too?_ Sabé mentally shook herself. "He's fine. He's with the squadron." She tried to smile reassuringly, but her ruined mask felt sticky. "Anakin destroyed the droid control ship."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"That's right," said Balen, grinning. "Apparently the kid flew right into it and blasted it from the inside." The other guards around the gurneys were grinning, too. "Last we heard, the Queen ordered the squadron to sweep Morleed and Thasyin for any last Federation resistance."

Obi-Wan nodded to Balen, then turned to his Master's body. Balen's mirth faded and a heaviness settled over the group again. Sabé cast another look around the cluttered, damaged hangar. The remaining dead and the scattered pieces of droid did not belong under the graceful marble arches.

"M'lady," Balen said, clearing his throat. "Allow me to escort you to the Queen."

She nodded. At her motion, the guard began moving the gurneys. Obi-Wan stayed with his Master's body, heading for the tow speeder Sabé realized would slowly carry the dead through from the hangar to the healing wing. She noticed then that the Padawan had reclaimed his robe and draped Qui-Gon's over his body.

"This way, m'lady," said Balen, gesturing to the swiftest exit to the palace's main wing.

Sabé slowly turned away from the procession, from the battleground.

_This is real death_.

* * *

Travel from Tatooine to Naboo does not require hyperspace, as sublight engines on maximum will suffice if the travelers are not on a scheduled rush. A ship's crew find such a jump wasteful of fuel and energy. Sabé, however, did not have the luxury of being conservative.

The Lorian prismed out of hyperspace.

Sabé gazed out at the stars, letting her eyes take their time. She felt drained. Her mind was clicking systematically through everything she had learned in the past hours, but her heart and body still ached. The crying echoes of dying Jedi still rang in her blood. Never before in her solitary meditations had she been so _in_ the Force, and never before had it ever felt like this. It'd throbbed distressingly.

She should have pulled away, closed herself off. But Sabé could not—not when she was so _in_, on her own, without Master Yoda's assistance. And so she'd endured the pain, if only to maintain her tentative hold. It held her there, until her mind had said _enough_.

Exhausted, she'd slept, until Yoda's chime awoke her. The message had been live, hurried, and quick. The clones, an army of the Republic, saved the remaining Jedi. Dooku had escaped. Skywalker was escorting the Senator back to Naboo. The Senate would surely vote for war. Skywalker was injured, and would have a few days of rehabilitation on Naboo before returning to Coruscant. The darkness increased.

She must do it now.

Sabé's eyes finally, reluctantly, settled on the emerald and azure jewel.

Naboo.

Her hands clenched over the controls. She had not seen her homeworld in five years. It was as beautiful as she remembered, but the sight did not fill her heart with warmth. This was no homecoming.

_This is no longer my home_, she told herself. _I am no longer of Naboo_. Even as she thought this, a little, nagging voice whispered in her ear, _Then why do you still carry it with you?_ Although the average person would recognize no trace of Sabé's native heritage on her persona, as was necessary for her position, the Naboo could not completely erase her deep roots. She kept her dark, thick hair long and braided. Her clothes, while plain and unassuming, were still made of fine but functional cloth. The dark cloak was interwoven with dark gray and navy threads and very subtly embroidered on the cowl and sleeves. The most telling and exposing element, however, was the tattoo just above the curve of her left hip.

The marked oath of a handmaiden.

Sabé despite everything, despite her total dedication to this anonymous life, could not erase this.

Pale-faced and drawn, Sabé regarded Naboo as it gradually bloomed in her viewscreen. To her left, reaching from Theed's region, a convoy line was bound for the pass to the Hydian Way. Although the freighters were very far and tiny, Sabé knew they were likely the most gracefully designed freighters in the galaxy. The Naboo preferred their artistic engineering designs on even the most commercial, industrial craft.

"Private cruiser, Lorian S-class, this is Naboo space control," a voice crackled over her open channel. "Please transmit identification and state purpose."

"Copy that, Naboo," Sabé said, keeping her voice calm and smooth. "Transmitting now. I'm homebound for Thasyin."

For the first time in many years, Sabé truly identified herself to planetary control. As a native, she would receive less notice and inspection. Declaring herself homebound for Thasyin would place her even further out of sight. She was merely a private citizen returning home. If the name Mabriee sparked any notice, any recognition, it would be associated with her family's merchant guild based in Thasyin. Nothing unusual.

"Lorian S-417," said space control a moment later, "you are cleared. Do you need coordinates?"

"No, thank you. I know my way home."

Sabé pressed her lips in a grim line as she piloted the Lorian into Naboo's atmosphere. She knew her way home, but she would not be going there. _This is my home no longer_, she told herself sternly.

The Queen had seen to that.

_No._I_ have seen to that._

"_I am not a reflection of you."_

Clouds swirled over the viewscreen.

"_I am not your problem. You cannot make them disappear by being rid of me."_

Sabé shook the words away. She stared at the clouds, losing herself in their dance around the vessel's heat.

"_You know nothing of duty."_

Condensation and air . . . steam and mist . . . Sabé felt them come through the viewscreen and wrap around her, caress her like a soothing balm. Duty. She understood it. Every second brought her closer to Naboo, but every second Sabé pulled further away.

As the clouds cleared, Naboo and Thasyin opened before her. Below, rushing under her, was a grand, rolling plain of emerald fields. Miles and miles of it stretched out to a range of majestic mountains dark with vegetation that eventually gave way to black volcanic stone from the planet's infant days. Clouds covered the snowcaps that thawed enough in the high summer months to swell the rivers winding and glittering below the cruiser's shadow. Stretching out from the wide, sweeping valley, like a jeweled tongue of the mountains, was Thasyin.

Sabé felt warm appreciation for the planet's dedication to making its cities monuments to art and beauty as much as a place for civilization to live and grow. Thasyin did not rise upward in metallic ambition, but stretched low, caressingly over the land. As the center hub for Naboo's agriculture and the doorway for the cave miners, Thasyin had grown out of the mountain valley and edged around the foot of the Allhanas. Under the pressure to expand but not to intrude on the fertile farmland, the city had begun building up the mountain, but still Sabé's eyes beheld the myriad, twisting gardens and verandas that interlaced the rounded, arching architecture.

Sabé smoothly guided the Lorian into Thasyin's approach vector. Although the city was one of Naboo's three hub cities, the interplanetary traffic was light. She flew easily through the yawning mouth of the valley, into Thasyin's steadily throbbing heart. Before her, their profiles lined with silvery mists, rose the Allhanas. They held her eyes for a moment, as if beckoning to the child who had once climbed their trees, swam in their bubbling, crystal pools, and explored their deep, treasure-filled caves.

But Sabé lowered her eyes, shoved Lyhana, her home village, out of her mind.

Instead she located a docking bay and hangar she knew well in the trade district. As she opened her comm channel and requested a place to land, an uneasy pang rippled through her chest. Slowly approaching to her right, she could see her father's bay. A familiar, faded bronze mercantile ship was being cleaned. Its oblong, wide curves rolled back to small, rounded fins over the hyperdrive burners. She could see workers crawling over the smooth, elegant hull, repainting the Naboo and Mabriee crests.

Sabé looked away.

Unbidden, a memory tried to grip her, tried to take her down to her father's ship. Of suddenly seeing her father striding down the palace garden corridor, a wide smile splitting his bearded face, of dropping all dignity and running into his outstretched arms, of being crushed while his laugh boomed through his chest into her ear. He'd crushed her, and although Papa was not a particularly big man, he'd seemed larger than life then as he clutched her and swung her around. She had not seen him in five months before that moment, since the Trade Federation blockade had left him stranded on other worlds, unable to return home.

"_I hear you've been up to mischief, my pebble,"_ he'd said, setting her down and tugging the cowl of her hood.

"Mabriee," said the comm channel, "you have clearance for docking bay seventeen."

"Copy that."

Sabé saw the blue flashing number to her left and turned the Lorian to the small dock. She knew if she were to land in the Mabriee hangar, she would receive a welcoming much like the one long ago in Theed.

_That was another life_, she thought as the cruiser's engines were winding down. Quickly she allowed the cloud dance to fill her again, soothe and relax her. Her mind clicked again, spurring her into action and purpose as the engines gave a soft whistle before releasing a hissing yawn.

Sabé already had the communications computer searching for the royal internal network. She had not dared to use it with space control tracking her planetary approach. Now, completely under security's scope, she could actively find the Senator's signal. She hoped her jump from near the Corellian Run had bought her time to reach Naboo before Skywalker and the Senator. Almost as an afterthought, she flipped on a passive setting to Naboo's space control channel, listening with half an ear to the chatter of inbound and outbound flights. Yoda had informed her, from Obi-Wan Kenobi, that Skywalker and the Senator were headed for the Lake Country, where Skywalker had shortly safeguarded her before the impromptu trip to Tatooine and Geonosis. Thasyin was the closest spaceport to the remote Lake Country hidden deep within the Allhanas, and a royal cruiser would be less conspicuous in a Thasyin hangar than flying into one of the remote villages. Since she had the necessary information to find their hideaway, Sabé knew she did not absolutely need to track the cruiser.

But Skywalker and the Senator made a predictably unpredictable team, and Sabé did not want to rule anything out.

With an ear tuned to the comm, and an eye and hand pinpointing the royal network, Sabé accessed the Naboo registry and her bank account. Although Naboo was a Republic system, it still kept its own currency that was interchangeable with the galactic dacteries. Most Naboo preferred to use their native tender, making Nubian credits worth more. Sabé could access her Naboo account from anywhere in the galaxy through the authorization of the Intergalactic Bank, but she rarely did. When she'd turned fourteen, the age of legal young adulthood on Naboo, Sabé had inherited a third of her family's income from the mercantile. She had been finishing school and then went right into handmaiden training with no use for her newfound inheritance, and with little knowledge that she was also receiving a stipend for her royal duty. So the money had sat and collected interest for over five years before she had needed to touch it, and then, only pulling what she needed to get to Coruscant, and afterwards only when she absolutely needed it, the interest had continued to build over the next five years. With Naboo's banking system in better shape that the galactic system, Sabé now had a considerable nest egg.

But Sabé only viewed her account pragmatically as she removed a credit-chip disk from the belt around her waist. She transferred a workable amount to the disk and slipped it back into the small pocket on her belt. She would need to stop at the bank for physical Nubian coins before she continued with her next errand.

The probing comm suddenly pinged. Sabé swiveled around, a grim smile alighting her stony face. The Senator's cruiser was in-system, and only a few moments later, space control was hailing them. Purpose and destination were not broadcast over the airwaves, but Sabé watched the information scrolling down the royal network and saw, indeed, Thasyin was their destination.

Moving swiftly, Sabé secured the ship and exited it.

She paused when her feet touched the old, washed stone floor of the docking bay. A tight heat held in her chest. This was the first time in five years she had set foot on Naboo.

A mixture of joy and heaviness fell upon her, and Sabé lifted her face to see through the open weather canopy a cloud dappled sky moving overhead. A small, gleaming land ship flew past, its hull a dazzling reflection of Naboo art and technology. Then a thicker, gray bottomed cloud passed over the sun, and Sabé lowered her chin and set her shoulders.

She had a mission.

At the bay's entrance, Sabé slid her credit disk through the attendant droid, securing this public bay for a week. She doubted she would need that long—a cynical part of her wondered if she would be alive that long—but the substantial stay would look less suspicious, like a family visit.

The public terminal buzzed and bustled in a quiet, friendly manner as Sabé silently slipped along the curving foot passage to the city streets beyond. Dressed in grays, she knew she was an oddity in her fashionable, expressive culture, but as she had been on Coruscant and many other worlds, she was only a shadow, and eyes slid away. But she knew, for her own ease, she needed to blend in better. Sabé smirked a little, thinking about the necessary shopping trip she was about to make.

Just as she came down the wide, sweeping steps of the public terminal, Sabé's ears heard a faint but familiar whine and felt a nudging whisper point her gaze into the sky toward the open gap of the Allhanas. Glinting in the dappled light, the unmistakable hull of the royal cruiser moved gracefully toward her. Its swept-back, bullet appearance drew the eyes of many around her before it dipped toward the private hangars on the other side of the valley.

The mission was on.

It only took Sabé minutes to find the nearest branch of Thasyin's banks. She kept her hood down, a friendly, unassuming expression on her face as she entered the fountain-filled lobby. The exchange for physical currency was quick. Sabé smiled and nodded to the droid supervisor, who had raised a disapproving eyebrow over Sabé's expressionless attire.

"Shopping trip," she shrugged sheepishly, smiling as she pocketed her Nubian credits.

The older woman smiled politely and continued on to the next droid teller.

An hour later, Sabé pretended to stroll dreamily through Thasyin's winding, viney streets as she headed quite purposefully for docking bay 17. Eyes of passersby drifted to her, but she allowed them, offering a shy smile as she passed. Dressed now in a light, flowing soft green skirt and pale tunic, she looked like a simple Thasyin native. A spring, jade cape hung from clasps on her shoulders, fluttering behind her in the breeze as she carried her old clothes and her new purchases in two canvas rucksacks. She'd also braided her hair into a partial crown around her head, leaving the rest to cascade down her back. Sabé knew she painted a lighthearted picture.

She could have hailed a speeder or cart pulled by droid or four-legged equus, but she preferred to use her legs after being cooped in the small cruiser. Even though the comfortable feel of soft cloth and flowing skirts was familiar, she felt as much a ghost traveling the streets as she had in her shadowy cloak. The streets of Thasyin were familiar, seemingly unchanged from school years, except now she saw a light smattering of Gungans and kaadu. Most Gungans still kept to their swamps far south of Thasyin, but Sabé could easily see why an adventurous few would journey to this isolated but providential city. But for the most part, the Naboo strolling the streets and gathering under awnings to talk were the dark-haired, dark featured natives, though Sabé did see flashes of light Roolin hair and deep Mourin skin. Years ago, she would not have given her people such scrutiny, would not have noticed the tribal division remnant of Naboo's long ago civil war. After traveling the galaxy and experiencing the explosion of species on Coruscant, Sabé was surprised by how much the Naboo clung to their origins.

She passed a HoloNet square full of gathering Naboo. Images from Coruscant flashes over the marble sculptures and deep red blooms. Sabé paused and stared with everyone else as tier upon tier of white armored soldiers filed into enormous, pierce-shaped battleships. A fiery, seemingly blood-bathed sunset blazed over Coruscant, as if foreshadowing the war to come. Remembering the Jedi, Sabé shuddered and hurried on.

As she turned down a narrow, shadowy alley for a shortcut, Sabé sensed someone detach from a darkened doorway. Without changing her pace, Sabé continued up the winding incline, gathering herself, preparing for it.

A scrape of boot on cobblestone . . . the rasp of metal against cloth . . . a quick inhale . . .

Sabé whirled, dropping her bags and unsheathing her vibroblade from her sleeve as a grimy hand fell upon her shoulder. Her attacker missed and started to tumble forward, but Sabé had him against the wall, her blade against his neck, a hip pinning him while her other arm twisted his wrist, disarming him.

"Guh!" he gasped, wild-eyed.

Sabé grimaced against his stinking breath. She pushed her weight into him and glared. By all appearances, this wiry, scraggly-bearded man was one of the few delinquent poor on Naboo. Rather than accept help, some turned to crime, reminding the proud population that their society was not perfect.

Sabé held the astonished mugger for another second, and then swiftly stepped back. He dropped on his knees, gasping and clutching his wrist.

"Get out of here," she snapped.

He didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling, he tried to reach his dropped weapon, but Sabé, lightning-quick, snatched it up. He gave a little squeak and took off down the alley, bumping wildly into a trash compactor.

Sabé watched him for a moment. She should have kept the shadow-game, even in her native clothes. Sighing, she slid her vibroblade back into it the sheath under her sleeve. She inspected the mugger's weapon, and found it to be too worn to be more than a crude weapon anymore. After disposing it in the nearest trash compactor, Sabé picked up her things and continued on her way.

The sun was behind the mountains by the time Sabé reached bay 17. With sleep in mind before she headed for the Lake Country, Sabé sealed the ship and went to the cockpit to close all her communication channels except for her link to Yoda.

She froze.

A small, yellow light flashed on the Naboo channel. The read-out screen message read: _Can you keep a secret? Saché Orzkal, Junior Head of Naboo Intelligence._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Can you keep a secret?_

Hours seemed to pass. Sabé stared at the coded words of Saché Orzkal, former handmaiden and childhood friend. It was their code, said in excited whispers and shining eyes in darkened school corridors.

_Can you keep a secret?_

Sabé stared at the blinking message, her heart pounding. The code, the game, had been adopted by the handmaidens. Saché loved it. The chatty, outgoing girl loved a good spot of intrigue—_"And where better than the palace, I ask you?"—_and although anyone outside their closed circle found her to be too talkative and energetic for her own good, no one, Sabé knew, could keep a secret like Saché Orzkal.

_Junior Head of Naboo Intelligence_.

Impressive, but perhaps not so surprising. Sabé bit her lip and moved closer to the computer console. She breathed slowly, steadily, letting her mind open to the possibilities, not the panic.

She had been discovered.

But this did not spell disaster. Maybe not. Not yet.

This was the personal code, Sabé was certain. Queen Amidala's handmaidens were no more. Her alarm rested in the label attached to her former friend's name. If Intelligence knew she was here, they must be looking for her . . . Had she underestimated Amidala? Even Sabé could not imagine the dismissal carrying so far as to send Intelligence after her. So it had to be just Saché . . .

But if this were so, why would Saché contact her? A warning?

Sabé stared at the blinking light another minute before realizing there was more to the message. Scowling at her incompetence, she opened the full message. The screen flickered and then an unsettlingly familiar face filled the space.

A young, dark-haired woman stared up at Sabé with searching, unseeing eyes. Excitement and uncertainty warred across her pretty features, flexing along her strong jaw and full mouth. After a moment, she grinned, her excitement bubbling over.

"Hello, Sabé, my old friend!" she said in a low, hushed voice.

Sabé tightly gripped the back of her pilot chair, forcing to keep her focus, to not get swept up in sentimentality.

"You are either not here or not answering your comm, and I'm hoping it's the former." Saché paused, obviously gathering herself. "I can't _believe_ you've been gone for—well, it does not matter. Anyway, I am now Junior Head, can you believe it? I had my own alert on you, in case you ever returned. Please, Sabé, contact me as soon as you get this! You just _disappeared_, and Amidala would not tell us why she dismissed you. I'm your friend. If you need help, I will help you."

Saché paused and smiled beseechingly. "I can keep a secret."

The message flickered out.

Sabé stood motionless for several minutes, thinking. She ignored the hard lump in her throat, ignored the tight burning in her chest. Instead she focused on the possibility. A loyal friend in Intelligence could be very useful in getting to Skywalker and the Senator. But she could not rely on past loyalty or past friendship. Saché would be too full of questions, too suspicious, and perhaps unwilling to divulge classified information. Unless . . . unless Sabé spun on the truth, that the Senator was in danger . . . But Naboo security would be in the way, and again, Sabé would be trusting a friend she had not seen in years, a friend whose last memory of her was not honorable.

The best thing to do was leave. Keep on with the old plan, but keep this new development in mind.

Unfortunately, this meant no rest for the wicked. She could not stay here, even if Saché was truly the only one aware of her return. It was too great a risk.

Quickly, Sabé inserted her comlink into the comm computer. It clicked and whirred as it registered Saché's link. Then Sabé repacked her rucksack and the extra bag with her new clothes. She had to plan her next step carefully.

In her hurry, she failed to notice the shaking of her hands, failed to give her sinking stomach attention. Only when she was moving down the darkening streets, avoiding the pools of warm light and ignoring the sounds of laughter and song, did she feel the cold knowledge grip her.

But she kept on, one of Yoda's chants in her ears as she neared the dark quay. Gondolas drifted sleepily over the glistening, black water pooling up the banks as the wide, deep River Lau-Allhana moved on into, through, and out of Thasyin. The dock house glowed in soft blue security lights, one window reading _Closed for the Night_ in shining white letters. Having spent half her childhood in Thasyin, Sabé understood the dock's hours. Already a thick blanket of fog was descending the mountains, the first cloud already creeping over the dark water. It would soon reach the quay and then silently fill the old back streets of Thasyin. Those traversing the city center would enjoy a spectacular dance of moisture and light when the natural occurrence hit the fog shields.

Sabé recalled many nights of watching the clouds descend and then rear, slowly, gracefully against the shields in a hypnotizing, fluid dance.

Tonight, she would not watch.

Sabé waited patiently in the shadows until the cool, wet cloak fell over the quay. Dowsed in heavy silence, she moved forward into the fog like a ghost.

* * *

The beginning golden pink hues of sunset flowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the four women in glorious warmth. Just beyond the ornate, pillared arches supporting the glare-subduing glass, the tiered Fountain of Rohala flashed and danced, celebrating the end of a long, grueling day. Evening birds alighted on the wearing marble, fluttering their feathers, their splashing appearing as live jewels.

Inside the Recovery Chamber—as the handmaidens referred to it—all was quiet, the serenade to approaching night faint, distant. It felt like a weary sigh, this room. For six years, Queen Amidala and her handmaidens retreated from the throne room to this quiet, airy oasis of luxurious lounges and a breathtaking view of Theed's cliffs and falls. Sunset always warmed the room, wrapped sympathetically, comfortingly around its worn occupants. Here pretense fell away, headdresses were removed, cumbersome gowns shed, and then smiles and jokes were passed, each one smoothing a furrowed brow, easing tense shoulders. The Recovery Chamber was their transition from ruler and guardians of an entire planet to friends, to young women enjoying the pleasure of one another's company.

Or so it usually was. Tonight a heavy, tense silence hung over the chamber, trailing after other similarly subdued evenings becoming not uncommon in the Queen's second term.

Sabé stood silently in the shadow of an inscribed window column, leaning slightly against the sculpted stone. Her eyes swept the chamber, falling first to the slumped, relaxed figure of Saché sprawled on a plush, deep purple divan. The handmaiden had shaken her long hair free of her hood, and it fell around her, mimicking her flopping body line in rebellion to the long hours spent upright and alert in the throne room. Saché had already completed her task of returning the Queen's gown to its proper place.

Sabé smiled a little at her friend's exhausted position, and then let her gaze glide from the lower sitting area to the "dressing station" (as Saché called it). Amidala sat at the large illuminated mirror, sitting rather stiffly as Rabé worked her deft fingers soothingly through headdress-stressed locks. In the mirror's reflection, a crease still marred the Queen's brow, and her eyes were hidden from Sabé as they stared downward, seeming to follow the curves of her frown. Not long ago, Amidala used to close her eyes and lean blissfully back into Rabé's fingers, letting the handmaiden's soothing murmurs ease the tension of politics and responsibility out of her. A joke would be passed, perhaps about those nimble fingers also being deadly, or _this_ was the true reason Rabé had been sworn into duty.

But now the throne room seemed to linger in here.

Sabé turned away. She stepped closer to the enormous, seemingly nonexistent window. Breathing deeply to alleviate the tension still tight in her body, she gazed out at the cliffs of Theed and the valley far below. With the sunset reflecting off the numerous waterfalls and the winding River Solleu, the world was a prism full of smaller, dancing crystals and ribbons. It was breathtaking, soothing . . . but it did not reach her tonight.

Sabé closed her eyes. _I should meditate in the gardens tonight_.

The room hummed, vibrated around her . . . through her. With her back turned to it, her face soaking in the glorious but retreating rays, Sabé could sense everything behind her. She could almost feel Rabé's massaging, but instead of soothing her, they seemed to grate, to knit uneasiness into her mind. Saché's breathing was sleepy, but Sabé could almost see her eyelids twitching, as the handmaiden was also aware of everyone's movements.

Most of all, Sabé could sense a thick cord of tension and wariness between Amidala and her. It felt tighter tonight, wrapping and twining around Sabé as she stood in silence.

Sabé sighed quietly, opening her eyes to stare at the evening birds bathing in the fountain.

It had been a long day.

A long day made even longer by the Supreme Chancellor's audience transmission. Sabé mentally shook her head at it all, at the former Senator's timing, the deteriorating state of the Republic, and, well, everything. She had not missed the warning looks Amidala had sent her throughout Chancellor Palpatine's little speech. Those warnings were unnecessary. Sabé knew her place, which was _not_ to speak out in the throne room, especially when the Queen and the galactic ruler were conversing over an enormous but delicate matter.

Still, it _had_ been a bit difficult to repress a derisive snort.

"Rabé, Saché," Amidala said quietly, drawing Sabé out of her thoughts. "You are dismissed for the evening."

"Yes, Your Highness," both said softly. Amidala had used her Queen's voice, but neither handmaiden voiced her opinion on this. They were too trained for that.

Sabé did not turn from the window to see the other handmaidens depart. Saché's skirt rustled softly as she rose, and Rabé murmured a good night. Sabé could almost feel the other handmaidens' curious, darting glances before they left. She knew the other handmaidens whispered the state of things between Sabé and the Queen. Saché had told her as much. But Sabé would not say, would not betray the Queen's confidence—but the others could sense the uneasiness between them.

Sabé kept facing the approach of night as the chamber's silence thickened. She had so much she wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but she knew her words would instigate another spar, deepen the conflict. She did not want to fight tonight. _Or ever._

"Sabé," said Amidala.

It was a command, as it so often was these days. Defense. The handmaiden turned, the worry she'd shown the sunset sliding under a blank mask as she faced Amidala, her friend as well as her Queen. The slightly younger woman stood facing her, royal mask removed, but another was already in place. Her arms hung at her sides, lost within the silky folds of her deep maroon robe.

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Amidala glanced away.

"I wish I could tell what you are thinking," she said.

"No, you don't," Sabé said quietly.

Amidala tried to smile ruefully, but her lips only twitched. She touched the gilded back of her chair, her white-painted nails fluttering over the artwork. Sabé watched silently. Perhaps she should not have spoken honestly, but they _always_ spoke honestly here. It was just that, lately, honesty was becoming painful.

The Queen seemed to realize she was fidgeting. She dropped her hand and met Sabé's gaze.

Sabé waited, her eyes never leaving the one she had pledged her life to six years ago. She knew this precocious young woman well, perhaps too well. Perhaps that was the problem, why they were becoming increasingly on edge with each other. _We will not fight tonight. _She could see the conflict marring Amidala's attempt at calm, cool control. The Queen was agitated, deeply bothered, and Sabé sensed a slight hint of fear in the downward tilt of Amidala's mouth. She wondered with mild, interested surprise, if the Queen feared _her_.

Sabé relaxed her face, letting herself appear less impassive and more open, listening.

"Sabé, my friend," Amidala said slowly, coming toward Sabé. "I know we've been having our . . . differences lately."

Sabé offered Amidala a smirk. "You're stalling, Ami. Please," she added, a touch darkly, "no political maneuvering here."

Amidala raised her chin, and Sabé knew she had spotted exactly what her friend had been doing. It made her distinctly uneasy that Amidala's words were still laced with her "Queen's voice."

"Very well," said Amidala after a moment. She turned away and began pacing before Sabé. After another minute, she stepped down to the sitting area. Sabé followed her, taking a seat on a lounge across from Amidala. The handmaiden watched the Queen's soft hands smooth her simple dress.

"Your Highness," Sabé said a little teasingly. "You are still stalling."

"Yes, I know," Amidala sighed. She touched her brow, gave her head a little shake, and straightened up, looking at Sabé almost pleadingly. "You are not going to like this, Sabé. I know everything you have said before—again and again—and I think you are wrong—no, stop, just let me explain."

She stood up and began pacing before Sabé, her hands gesturing as if arguing with themselves. "The Chancellor and I have been speaking privately often this past month," she said.

Sabé did not bother to hide her surprise or dismay at hearing this. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because you have often told me what you think of Palpatine." Amidala shrugged. "Yes, maybe he did seize rather enthusiastically upon the opportunity that damn blockade presented him, but one can be ambitious as well as honest and good, Sabé."

Sabé bit back her retort. They had argued over Palpatine before. Sabé did not trust the man. In her brief time with him, under the decoy costume, she had felt decidedly uneasy around him. Perhaps being in disguise made her paranoid of other disguises, but she simply did not trust his unassuming, guileless, almost downright 'sweet old man' manner. Now, with rumors of worlds planning to secede from the Republic, talk of extending Palpatine's soon-to-end term was circulating through the Senate. Tonight, Palpatine had conferred with Amidala, who was also facing similar talk from the Naboo.

Only over an hour ago, Sabé had listened to Palpatine's familiar, disarmingly reluctant tone. _"I, of course, Your Highness, believe as you do. My term should end accordingly, as the honorable chancellors have before me. But I am merely an extension of the voice of the people, and if the galaxy feels I am best to prevent this growing unrest, I cannot refuse them."_

"He is aggrieved that the Senate is even considering amending the constitution to allow him to continue," said Amidala, pacing before Sabé. "I know him well, Sabé. He does not take this unprecedented situation lightly."

Sabé frowned, resisting a headshake as Amidala gave her a narrow look. The two women stared at each other for a long moment, and Sabé knew they were both replaying previous conversations in their minds. Queen Amidala was adamant about stepping down from the throne when her term ended. The Naboo could hardly be criticized for wanting to keep her. King Veruna had wounded the Naboo's faith in their government, but Amidala, though young, had restored the people's faith and vigor. Sabé and Amidala had often speculated if she would have even gone a second term, if not for the Trade Federation's invasion that spurred a rather spectacular victory for the Queen.

"_I would like to believe my policies and civilized actions are what got me re-elected, but I have to admit, Sabé, I think it's the Battle for Naboo they think about, remember."_

"_And that spectacular parade and ball."_

"_Sabé!"_

"Your Highness—Ami—" Sabé paused, trying to keep any judgment from her voice. "Has the Chancellor changed your mind about the constitution?"

Amidala smiled reassuringly, but it did not reach her eyes. "No. I stand firm there." She brushed away a stray lock. "But you did hear him correctly. He has argued the other side of the matter . . . but he and I are different, despite our similar ideals."

Sabé raised her eyebrows, thinking back to Palpatine's words over an hour ago. _"Your reign's end will be a great loss to your people, but these things must pass. Have you given any more consideration to my earlier suggestion?"_

She looked sharply at Amidala. "What did he ask you to consider? You evaded it earlier."

Amidala froze for a moment, then drew herself up straight. All-too-familiar stubbornness darkened her eyes, hardened the smooth, graceful line of her chin. "This is what I want to talk to you about, Sabé. My friend. You cannot sway me. I have made my decision."

Uneasiness swirled in her belly, but Sabé sat up straight, her eyes never leaving the Queen as she paced deliberately before her. Amidala's hands were folded across her stomach, as if to brace herself. Then she stopped and stood quite still, her back to Sabé as she gazed at the purple twilight filling the garden terrace.

"The Chancellor has asked me," Amidala said quietly, carefully, "to run for the Senate when my term is over. And I will."

"What?" Sabé stood up and went to the Queen, stopping just behind her.

Amidala turned, resolution hard in her eyes. "When I am no longer Queen of Naboo, I will run for the Galactic Senate."

Sabé had been afraid of this, but it had only been uncertain speculation on Amidala's part.

"When did you decide this?" she asked.

"Today. It became clear to me I must help the Republic where I can."

"By jumping into that quagmire of corruption?" Sabé spat disgustedly. "Ami, you are an idealist. You think just because you are honest and good and truly _believe_ in the system—"

"Which is _exactly_ why I need to be there!" Amidala pressed a palm to her forehead and took a deep breath. "Sabé, we've been over this before."

"I know." Sabé looked away and took a deep, steadying breath. Her concern for Amidala went further than mere corruption. After the Queen's nearly unanimous re-election, Sabé had noticed a shadow of conflict creep into her friend's eyes, a hint of uncertainty behind the white, doll-like mask. The years of being in public service, in being selfless and idealism-in-action, of putting all sense of self away to benefit others, were wearing on the young woman. Sabé had watched as Amidala's sense of _self_ began to surface and conflict with the crown. Eventually, she had prodded her friend into admitting some of her uncertainty. Where was her place in life, exactly? Was she selfish to sometimes wish for a different life? As Sabé saw it, Amidala had so thoroughly split herself in two and stored half away, that she could not wholly connect to herself anymore. She had placed so much into the role of Queen Amidala that any other part of herself should be squashed and pushed away.

But more and more, the _self_ was creeping back, demanding to be taken out and examined. It made Amidala uneasy. Yet she yearned for it; Sabé could almost feel her friend's need for it. The temptation to toss away the Queen half and devote herself to this other hidden, neglected part of her had to be overwhelming. Amidala had finally, shamefacedly, admitted this one night to Sabé.

While Sabé agreed her friend needed to reevaluate her personal and public life, she did not believe Amidala would be content living a traditional, domestic life. Amidala was an idealist, driven by helping people, making a difference by serving the greater good. If she ricocheted to a life focused on the self, she would be miserable. She needed to find a balance, a compromise.

But Sabé was beginning to wonder if Amidala even could . . .

"I know," Sabé repeated, softening her voice. "But, Ami, you will be wasted there. And unhappy."

"My personal happiness has nothing to do with this." A pained look flashed across Amidala's face. "Sabé, I know you are worried about me. I appreciate it. But I stand firm. The Republic needs me. I know it will be . . . unpleasant on Coruscant at times. I am not so naïve and isolated to not see the corruption in the Senate. The Chancellor is doing what he can, but he needs more idealists, more honest Senators."

She paused and gave Sabé an earnest smile with a small shake of her head. "You are a demanding friend, Sabé. You want me to find—what is it? 'A place within myself' but still serve the greater good? Well, I _am_. Where better than the Republic Senate?"

"You misunderstand me," said Sabé. On purpose, she was sure. "There are many ways to serve without throwing yourself into that pit. You could serve on the council, or return to the relief group—"

"I have made my decision."

Sabé took a deep breath. "Is this, perhaps, an attempt to run away from your self-doubt?"

"That is quite enough, handmaiden!"

Sabé lifted her chin against the rebuke. Amidala's eyes flashed dangerously, an angry flush in her cheeks. _I went too far there_, Sabé thought. _Which means I've hit the mark._ Still, she did not want to anger Amidala. Dropping her head in a small, apologetic bow, she said, "I am sorry, Your Highness. I will, of course, continue to serve you on Coruscant."

When she looked up, she expected to see soft forgiveness in her friend's face, but Sabé felt a cold chill creep up her back. Amidala was gazing at her with her politician's face.

"No, Sabé," she said quietly. "You will not."

Sabé opened her mouth to cry _what?_, but she only gaped. A faint buzzing sounded in her ear, and she wondered, rather distantly, how a punched gut could affect her ears.

"Please explain," she gritted out.

Amidala, face blank, moved away, her steps steady and controlled. "I have decided to release the handmaidens at the end of my term. Yané, as you know, will be gone by the end of the month due to her mother's illness. Rabé, I know, is waiting to be married. You have all served me well. I do not wish to put your lives on hold for me any longer."

Her words reverberated through the room, eventually finding their way to Sabé, who stood stock still, unable to move. She absorbed them slowly through the ringing in her ears, then shook her head to dislodge them.

"Your Highness—Ami," she said. Her throat felt scratchy, her tongue thick. "I understand you want to give us a gift. But we have pledged our lives to you. We do not take our oaths lightly. Some of us may still wish to serve. _I_ still wish to serve you."

"You want me to offer all of you a choice," said Amidala. Sabé nodded. "I have already spoken to the others."

"You_what_?"

Amidala gave Sabé a distinctly patronizing look. "I had a feeling you would take this the wrong way." She came forward, her hands folded together. "Rabé, Saché, Eirtaé, and Yané—they have all served me, have all taken that oath, but they are ready for their lives to resume. My reign is not permanent. Nor are your oaths. You serve me, but I will not always need you."

"You will still need us on Coruscant," said Sabé. "You will still need handmaidens."

"Not five."

"No, not five. If the others wish to leave, then let them," said Sabé, "but, please, Ami, let me continue to serve you. I have no other life to resume. This _is_ my life."

"Which only reaffirms my decision," said Amidala, her little smile cold. "Service to me cannot be your life anymore, Sabé. You must find something else. Perhaps all those things you've been saying to me you're really saying to yourself."

"I am not a reflection of you."

Sabé took a step back, trying to gather herself. She felt cold and hot at once. "Your Highness," she said, "I know exactly who I am. I have my duty, I serve you, and that's exactly where I should be: at your side."

"Come now, Sabé," Amidala admonished. "You're an independent person. Your duty will be over soon. How can you not want another life? Start a family? Follow a different career path and get away from politics?"

Sabé stared in disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself? _You_ are the one harboring desire for another life, not me."

"How can you not?"

Sabé turned away from Amidala, wanting to scream in frustration. "Again, I ask you are you listening to yourself? Ami, you need to figure out what you want and need before you lose yourself on Coruscant! You are unhappy. You're not even sure what you want. How can you lead and help—"

"You are taking this too close to heart!" cried Amidala over Sabé. "You act like I'm _betraying_ you are something. Your duty is only temporary, Sabé. You are even compensated for it. It is almost like a _job_—"

"You know _nothing_ of duty, Your Highness."

The words hissed vehemently out of her before she could stop them. But she did not regret them, not yet.

Amidala gaped as if she had been slapped. Sabé raised her chin, staring her down. Broiling . . . she was broiling. How _could_ she? How could she break all of this—oath, duty, life—down to a mere _job_? Everything Sabé had become, everything she was . . . No, Amidala could not have said that, could not mean it . . .

"You do not mean that," said Amidala coldly. "Is it not duty drawing me to Coruscant?"

"Yes, I mean it. And no—it is not duty." _You do not understand me, you do not understand duty. _"You believe this is a burden you must bear. Duty is not a burden, Your Highness. It begins with a choice, not surrender."

"_Have I not made my choice?"_ Amidala whirled around, her robes billowing behind her, her hair swinging angrily. "I chose to run for Queen, I've chosen this life of service to the people! I have made my choice to be of still greater service! I am sacrificing my personal desires for this! How can you look at me and say I know nothing of duty?"

Sabé did not speak for a moment. Amidala's words were wrought with anger and pain. The handmaiden focused on this, tried to set her own sense of betrayal aside. Amidala was acting out from her own insecurity, and Sabé was the only one she could attack. Honesty truly was becoming too painful . . .

"Ami," she said softly, "sacrifice _is_ part of duty. But you have no peace with it."

"And you do, I suppose?" Amidala's shoulders were hunched, her dark locks falling over them like a cloak.

"Yes," said Sabé, choosing to ignore the sarcastic tone. "I do."

"And that makes you better than me?" Amidala faced Sabé angrily. "You stand there, all calm and mighty, spouting off about duty and sacrifice like some sort of—of Jedi—thinking you know me! Thinking you are better than me!"

"You completely misunderstand me, Your Highness!" Sabé advanced, her voice rising with her anger, her disbelief. "I have never believed myself better than you! I am _not_ calm and mighty as you put it! I am absolutely _seething_! Because I cannot believe that the person I have served both as handmaiden, protector, and friend for six years is tossing me away, acting like I am nothing more than an employee! I have only been concerned for you, my friend! I cannot quietly sit by and watch you sink deeper and deeper into misery!

"You've been using me as your mirror! Well, I'm not your mirror! I am your friend, I am your beating wall, but I am not your mirror. Do not, I beg you, turn me away because you cannot face yourself!"

Sabé's voice went hoarse and she stopped, drawing breath. She felt shaky, dizzy. Had she really just shouted at Amidala? She had more to say, more to scream, but her throat ceased to function.

"You are dismissed."

Sabé swallowed and cleared your throat. "Yes, Your Highness. You must, however, give me the choice to continue to serve you on Coruscant. I am your handmaiden. Your friend."

"No. You are not."

The Queen's hard, impassive voice stabbed Sabé like shards of ice.

"What?" she choked out. She had misheard . . . Amidala's back was still to her, muffling her words . . . no matter how clear they were . . . "What did you say?"

"You are no longer my handmaiden. You are dismissed." Amidala turned then. Cold, hard, and resolute. "I am not giving you a choice. You are dismissed from my service."

No . . .

No . . . No, it couldn't be . . .

Sabé swayed . . . blinked . . .

"I was going to ask you to train my senatorial handmaidens," the Queen continued. "As your last _duty_ to me."

A flicker . . . _How could she?_ . . . Now a flame—

She finally found her voice, found something to grasp. "You—you cannot mean that!"

"Oh, but I do." Queen Amidala suddenly seemed a stranger, her familiar, beautiful face devoid of any semblance of the friend Sabé had faithfully served for six years. "I am dismissing you without honor, Sabé Mabriee. You are no longer my handmaiden. I want you out of the palace by tomorrow."

The room tilted as Queen Amidala turned away. The walls faded to gray edged in red . . . blurry but hard . . . Something scratchy and painful—the Queen's trailing robe—the buzzing, ringing, pounding . . . Sabé swayed, her calves pressing against the edge of the lounge. Something was moving, writhing in her stomach, threatening to come up, but her throat had closed and her lungs were empty.

No . . . this could not be happening . . .

The Queen was almost to the left passage door . . .

It was happening.

Sabé turned her head. Her body was still frozen. But she could see the Queen . . . almost to the door . . . almost gone. The thing in her stomach burned, the walls throbbed, pulsing like hot, angry blood in dead cold veins.

"Amidala," she said. Jagged, twisted. Her throat . . . it hurt . . . "I am not your problem. Being rid of me—it won't make your problems go away."

The Queen paused. Without turning, she repeated, "You are _dismissed_."

Almost out the door, almost gone.

A disembodied voice filled her throat, filled the room. "I was wrong about you. You are just another politician. I do not believe in you."

Amidala was gone. The chamber stilled, the throbbing ceased, but everything remained gray. Sabé stood alone, barely breathing, as Amidala's words thrummed unbearably through her heart, riding her blood to her ears.

"_You are dismissed."_

* * *

The gondola moved swiftly up the River Lau-Allhana, a mere phantom in the night fog. The soft, faint hum of its engines was muffled by the thick, intense misty blanket shrouding the deep, dark water and shadowed banks. Sabé could not see past the prow, the ghostly night was so thick. It brushed like spectral curtains against her face, dampening her skin and clothes as she sped over the water. The gondola's navicomputer glowed green, illuminating the controls and allowing her to see the whispery arms caressing the passing boat. Without the computer, night passage up River Lau-Allhana would be next to impossible, but Sabé knew she could have done it. Not at this speed, of course, but she would not have gotten lost or hung on the rocks.

The Force was singing to her. She sat deep in her seat, eyes half-closed, a drenching lull breezing over as the gondola traveled smoothly just above the water. The Force was everywhere, even in this beautiful but treacherous fog. She was in passive meditation, her thoughts and memories drifting with this serene flow of the mountains, air, and water. It did not matter that she was on Naboo, or that she was traveling upriver on a death mission. She was here, in the Force, and could be anywhere.

She felt the scintillating thrill of a night long ago. Twelve years old and full of mischief and daring, she and Saché pushed a primitive canoe out into the fog. Cold and shivering from fright and thrill, they had drifted into the current, unable to distinguish direction, with only the river to decide their fate. Yet Sabé had guided them past rocks and bars to the next village and the next . . . Good instincts, she had thought then . . . The Force, she knew now.

The navicomputer beeped softly, opening Sabé's eyes fully. A fork in the river was approaching. She adjusted the controls to take her east into the Lake Country. Soon the river would become long, wide lakes cutting swaths of watery valleys through the mountains.

Sabé settled back into her seat as the prow turned, barely leaving a curving wake behind. She felt the shift, sensed the change in direction, but to her eyes, the world appeared the same. The temperature had continually dropped since leaving Thasyin, due to the onset of night, fog, and altitude. Sabé pulled her cloak tighter around, now feeling the dampness as dampness, not an essence of the Force's sweet lullaby.

Her mind focused on the tangible after drifting for so many hours. Commandeering a gondola had been almost laughably easy. The Naboo did not travel the river at night. Navicomputers helped, but things could still go wrong, and the experience was spooky and disorienting. Sabé only had to employ the shadow game to get to the quay station guard, tranquilize him, and then do the same for the two workers inside. Free to access the computers, she rented a gondola and paid for it with physical credits, and took note that no gondola had been purchased under the Royal pass. Skywalker and the Senator were apparently staying in Thasyin for the night . . . or perhaps not. She only hoped neither was foolish enough to travel to the Lake Country at night.

Not that it mattered if she or they arrived first. Sabé shivered under her damp cloak. Morning was approaching, she could discern a hint of light in the fog, tiny, slow whirls as it began to break apart. It would not be long now.

She shivered again. Brushing away curling damp locks of hair, she tried to shake the cold. Dawn would come soon, drawing back the cloak over Naboo. Fresh mountain sunshine would pierce reality through this surreal curtain, and she would have to face it not under a soothing lullaby but in clear, unremitting light.

Sabé stood, letting the cloak fall from her shoulders. Cool dampness immediately swathed her, prickling her skin. She shivered and closed her eyes, allowing the numbness to wash over her.

* * *

She awoke suddenly, as if from a disturbing dream. But she did not remember dreaming, only tossing and turning, and Eirtaé chiding her . . .

Sabé shook her head and reached for the small blaster at her side as her eyes adjusted to the dim night lighting of the Queen's private cabin. Rabé was fast asleep in one of the fold-out bunks, her slender form curled under a crimson blanket. Eirtaé was standing guard near the cabin's entrance, her eyes glittering at Sabé.

"What?" she whispered.

Sabé moved quickly to Eirtaé's side. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Eirtaé, keeping her voice low for Rabé's sake.

"You sure?" Sabé couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. _Something_ had to have woken her up. Goosebumps crept up her arms.

"Yes." Eirtaé rolled her eyes. "I just got up about forty minutes ago to relieve Rabé. It's almost dawn."

Sabé pressed her lips together. Eirtaé was never cheerful in the morning. "Have you done rounds on the ship yet?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound bossy.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Everything is _fine_. The nightwatch was bored." Eirtaé gave her an irritated look. "You tossed and turned quite a bit."

"Sorry."

The blonde handmaiden shrugged. "I did not sleep well, either."

Sabé smiled gratefully. Then she turned away, moving for the black cloak she wore earlier in the night. She could not shake this unsettling feeling; she was restless and agitated.

"What are you doing?" Eirtaé hissed as Sabé also reached for the royal face paint.

"I'm going to have a look around." Eirtaé opened her mouth to protest, but Sabé plowed on. "Look—it's not quite dawn yet. Almost everyone will be asleep and I'm putting the face on. No one is going to question why the Queen is having a nose-about. It's to be expected, really."

Eirtaé raised an eyebrow. "Rabé told me about the Jedi."

Sabé frowned. Something was implied in Eirtaé's tone and that eyebrow, but she could not discern what. "What did she tell you?"

"That you went _outside the ship_, for one." Eirtaé shook her head. "Are you insane, Sabé?"

"Nothing happened. Rabé was with me. I was in no danger." Sabé sighed. "And I needed fresh air." She bit her lip as Eirtaé continued to stare levelly at her. "Look, Eirtaé, I know what you're thinking. But believe me, I'm the _last_ person who wants to fail. The Queen's secret is safe with me." She grinned a little. "Besides, if a rabid, wild bantha had clobbered me and word got back to the Trade Federation, they would presume the Queen dead and Amidala would be safe."

Eirtaé stared at her for a long moment, then rolled her eyes. "Your logic is not my logic."

Sabé held up the face paint. "Come now, Eirtaé, help me out. Or I'll give you an executive order to do so."

The older handmaiden scowled but dutifully applied the royal paint to Sabé's face. She worked quickly, expertly in the dim lighting, a small frown on her pale, pretty face. Something was obviously bothering her, and Sabé, already feeling on-edge, did not want to ask. But after Eirtaé finished applying the Scar of Remembrance, she gave Sabé a stern, probing look.

"Rabé said you spoke to the Jedi."

"Yes." Sabé scowled. "He refused to leave me alone."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing of consequence. Look—Eirtaé, I did not say anything to give myself away." _At least, I hope not_. Sabé squared her shoulders and raised her chin regally. Part of her resented Eirtaé's suspicious doubt, but another part wavered anxiously, wondering if the older handmaiden was right. Was she acting unqueenly? Had the Jedi read her mind or sensed something last night? Was _that_ why she felt so uneasy now?

"Anyway," she said briskly, covering up her uncertainty. "The Jedi did not divulge any useful information. I want to contact Padmé before day comes and hear what she has to say."

Eirtaé smirked as she pulled her hood up. "Knowing her, I bet she has a lot to say."

Wordlessly, the two handmaidens left the private cabin, Eirtaé falling a step behind Sabé's shoulder. A chill crept up her back as she moved silently down the dimly lit lower level of the royal starship. The effect of the low-energy night lighting and the silence spooked her, unnerved her. She knew this ship well, knew its cargo manifest and the beings it carried. Yet she'd awoken in it feeling . . . disturbed. The curving bulkheads seemed to hold some unseen threat, some menace that had interrupted her tossing and turning.

"You know," Eirtaé whispered when Sabé paused just outside the common. "It's a little . . . creepy."

Sabé nodded. The curves seemed threatening rather than soothing. She pulled her hood a little lower over her face and then peered into the ship's common. In the dim lighting, she could see dark mounds of sleeping Naboo guards and pilots scattered in chairs and benches and along the bulkheads. One pilot had his chair tilted back against a bulkhead, his feet propped on the table, his mouth wide open in blissful slumber.

"Quiet as a tomb," Eirtaé said softly.

Sabé gave a small shudder and passed by the common's entrance. A few feet down the corridor stood a palace guard. He bowed slightly at her approach, and Sabé recognized him as Nic, one of Panaka's favorites.

"Have there been any disturbances?" she asked him quietly in her Queen's voice.

"No, Your Highness."

"Nothing at all?" Behind her, Eirtaé stirred slightly.

"No . . . well." Nic shifted his blaster, his dark eyes glittering under his helmet rim. "The Jedi was in the bridge for most of the night. But he left it about thirty minutes ago. Tyrin's on starboard and saw him leave through the aft hatch, Your Highness."

Sabé could tell Nic was nervous. She supposed he'd never spoken to the Queen before. "Thank you, Nic."

A barely suppressed smile flitted across his face. Captain Panaka had given her the names of those aboard the ship shortly after landing. She and Amidala had agreed that while the Queen must remain aloof and steady, she should not dismiss the chance of boosting morale. Simple name-dropping often did wonders. Nic would be more favorable and supportive of the Queen during the breakfast mutterings.

But her mind was far from Nic as she hurried to the bridge. What was Obi-Wan doing out of the ship? Jedi exercises? Or had he left to help his Master and Padmé? She'd woken with a bad feeling, and if Amidala was in danger . . .

She wanted to race to the aft hatch, but the Queen certainly could not go chasing after wayward Jedi. It would look especially silly if she burst out of the ship to find Obi-Wan Kenobi meditating or doing something else not dangerous.

A moment later the lift doors opened to the bridge. Sabé and Eirtaé stepped into the red glow as Captain Panaka swiveled in his chair to greet them.

"One of the guards informs me the Jedi left by the starboard hatch," Sabé said quickly.

"You won't even let me ask, will you?" Panaka muttered.

Sabé gave him a tight smile. "You may."

Panaka rolled his eyes. "What are you doing up here, Your Highness."

"Couldn't sleep." Sabé did not feel like explaining her uneasiness to the Captain. She peered out the viewport. Stars were fading in a deep purple sky slowly bowing to the gray and pink dawn edging the horizon. Sabé absently wondered what a two-sun rise was like, but she had more pressing matters at hand.

"The Jedi," she repeated, turning to Captain Panaka.

The man sighed and gestured at the viewscreen he was hunched over. "These Jedi . . . I don't know whether they're a blessing or a curse."

Sabé peered over his shoulder into the viewscreen. Obi-Wan Kenobi was pacing around the perimeter of the ship, his body facing away from Mos Espa out into the desert. She could almost feel the coiled agitation coming off him, rippling within his long robe.

"He's just been pacing," said Panaka. "Had half a mind to go out there and scold him, but he left the ship secured. Used that hatch rather than the ramp."

Sabé dared not look at Eirtaé. Surely Rabé had told her about using the main hatch, leaving the ship wide open, even if guarded. She wondered worriedly if either handmaiden had informed Panaka, who, she'd made sure, had been sleeping at the time.

"He seems to be searching for something," Sabé said after a long moment.

"I know. Well, he stopped pacing for awhile and just stood there. I think he was meditating."

"Maybe he's contacting Master Jinn?" suggested Eirtaé.

"But we've seen him use a comlink."

Eirtaé shrugged. "Could be to throw us off. Do Jedi not read minds?"

Captain Panaka gave them both a narrow look. "Let us hope not."

"My shields are up, Captain," Sabé said quickly. Her meditation master had often commended her ability to close and settle her mind. Still, she felt uneasy under Panaka's stern gaze and the approaching dawn. And there was that thing she wanted to ask the others, but dared not . . .

"Why don't we wake Padmé up?" Pulling out her comlink, Sabé glanced at the viewscreen. Obi-Wan had not ceased his agitated pace.

Amidala answered a few seconds later, sounding groggy and a little grouchy. "What?"

"Good morning, Padmé."

"It better be. I have to be quick. Master Jinn is up already. I think he was talking to his apprentice."

Sabé threw Panaka a look. He mouthed back _'I didn't see him do that.'_

"Fine. Tell us what you can."

They listened to Amidala's hushed, electronic tirade. If not for the levity of situation, Sabé would have laughed. Amidala was dangerously close to having a fit over things not going her way. It was amusing—to a point. Sabé listened intently, but allowed Panaka and Eirtaé to give the proper exclamations of dismay. Outside, Obi-Wan seemed to give up his pacing and nimbly sprang up into the hatch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

A distant, low whine floated over the lapping water, drawing old Coran's eyes into the glistening heat over the lake. Distances were blurry now, but his ears deciphered the craft approaching. He shrugged his hunched shoulders and knuckled the brim of his floppy hat upward. It would be a few more minutes, no need to rush.

His chapped hands shucked the long, thick vegetable in his hands, the silken fibers dropping to the growing pile at his feet. Sweat trickled down his temples, slipping into his ears, irritating him. Coran rubbed his left ear against his shoulder. Telmé would be here soon, basket on her hip, to collect the silk. She would lament over stolen time, but Coran knew behind her rough, grouchy words, she had been impressed and excited by the young couple's brief time on the verandah. And, no doubt, she had been just as pleased with last night's communication. No doubt, indeed, she had poor Evvé cooking delicious treats Coran would never be allowed to touch.

Coran stopped mid-shuck.

His beady, aging eyes sought the gondola nearing this northeastern shore. It flashed under the high, late morning sun. No one was expected until the afternoon . . . They could not have reached Balmay from Thasyin so soon, unless they traveled by night . . .

The old lake master dropped his chore and shuffled out of his shady perch on the dock's crest. Curiosity more than alarm glittered in his dark eyes. The gondola slowed as it neared the dock, and Coran could see it was a smaller craft. A lone figure sat at the helm.

"Lok'hai," he uttered.

_Telmé will love this_, Coran thought as he entered the dock hut. The dock's computer twittered alertly, its main screen focused on the gondola now gliding smoothly to a stop. This unexpected arrival had hailed him upon entering the Great Mouth two hours ago, but he had been enjoying his mid-morning pipe and soaking in the rising heat as the sun finally topped the mountains.

No matter.

Coran left the hut and shuffled down to the dock. Oh, Telmé would love this indeed. Lok'hai, here! How long had it been? At least it was Lok'hai and not someone expecting a grand holiday getaway, not now, not with those two due up from Thasyin!

"Hallo!" he called when he reached the gondola.

The lone figure was standing motionlessly at the prow. Although he had not seen one in years, Coran knew a Lok'hai when he saw one. The religion tended to wax and wan among the Naboo, sometimes emerging as the new vogue for the young. He had never really understood it, only knew it had something to do with self-placement, meditation, and lots of inward thinking and outward flowing or some other nonsense. This one, like the others that used to come up here, was clad head to toe in solemn, earthy green so faded it could almost be gray. A thin veil covered her face, blurring her features except for her eyes, which watched him with utter calm.

"Hallo," Coran said again, knuckling his forehead. "I s'pose you've taken that vow of silence, then?"

The hooded head nodded once.

"Right, right." Coran shifted a bit. He never liked that about the Lok'hai. They were easy guests for a lake master, being so quiet and isolated and respectful, but it made him feel a little foolish. At least the Vowed Ones were allowed to whisper to the common folk when need be.

"Well, come on out," he said. "I wasn't expecting you, but your lot aren't any trouble."

The Lok'hai, so still and motionless, seemed to dissolve into fluid as she stepped up onto the dock. She was so small, almost like a child. But Coran had never seen a child with those eyes. They watched him from beneath her hood, large and dark, calm and emotionless.

She carried only a rucksack. Some Lok'hai came with nothing. The old lake master remembered hearing about different levels in the monk's journey, different peaks of enlightenment and discovery. This one—she had to be young, didn't she?—must be a pupil, fresh on her first journey without her mentor. But the other ones carrying rucksacks before her had a spark of adventure and maybe a little fear in their eyes.

"Come along, then."

Coran started up the dock. The Lok'hai followed silently behind him. When they reached the hut, he let her in and gestured to the old bench at the back. She stood, waiting.

"Just got to log you in," Coran explained. "It's pretty quiet up here. Usually. Got a couple comin' up from Thasyin this afternoon. Wedding party. Important people. They left just a week ago—guess they decided to come back for the wedding and honeymoon. It's all very hush-hush, of course. Best place for that, Balmay. 'Spect that's why you're here, eh?"

As he talked, the Naberrie party chimed in, logging their progress. "Ah, right on time," he grinned at the monk-girl. "They'll be here about an hour before supper. Plenty of time to get you settled. Speaking of which . . ."

The Lok'hai bowed her head, acknowledging that she must and would break her silence vow out of respect for his convenience.

"Good, good." Coran scratched the back of his neck. "Now, are you looking for actual lodging or are you wildering it?"

The Lok'hai stepped closer, all smooth and silent.

"Simple lodging," she whispered.

"Good, good. Can't put you up in the estate house with the Naberrie wedding coming."

_Curious people, those Lok'hai_, Coran thought as he led the monk-girl up the steps cut into the hill. He waved to Telmé under his abandoned tree. She shook her white head, the basket of silk on her round hip. Coran chuckled under his breath and continued upward. Had to focus on the climb now. He was getting too old for this.

Mastering the Balmay landing was in his blood, his bones. Generations of Yonahans had minded the remote beauty of Lake Balama. They kept the estate beautiful and isolated, providing a comfortable and serene retreat for some of Naboo's finest. Coran grew up in the village on the other side of the hill, and he did not mind he would die there. He would never be well-traveled, would never venture into those stars or touch the moons reflected in the lake on clear nights, but Coran liked to think he'd seen the better part of the galaxy right here.

After all, he was hosting a former Queen and a Jedi!

Coran glanced over at the golden stone of the estate house. The gardener was trimming the vines winding up the pillars. Then he focused on the steps again and they passed the house, cresting the hill. Coran stopped to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow with his hat. The Lok'hai halted silently just behind his right shoulder. It seemed perfectly natural, as if she always stopped just behind someone's shoulder, waiting patiently for the next move.

"Coran! Coran!"

"My wife, Telmé," he explained to the monk-girl. He didn't bother to turn as Telmé hurried toward them, her skirts flapping. Coran never did understand skirts. He glanced at the sensible attire of the Lok'hai. Tunic, trousers bound by wrap-leggings around the calves. The hooded half-cloak might be a bit excessive for the warm days here, but that was culture for you.

"Coran," Telmé said breathlessly, coming to his left side. Her blue eyes sparked and her hollow cheeks darkened as she sucked in a deep, stern breath. "What's this?"

"Lok'hai. Just came up." Coran rather thought this obvious, but he knew better now than to say so.

"Oh, really?" Telmé gave the monk-girl a scathing glance. The Lok'hai only watched. "Well," Telmé huffed, shifting her basket with Coran's unfinished morning work. "Best get this one seen to before you-know-who gets here. Hope we don't get in trouble now."

"She won't be a bother, Tel," said Coran soothingly. "Silent vow and all that. Take to herself, I bet. Just wants bed and roof. No bother."

"You haven't been running your mouth, have you? This is supposed to be secret."

Coran merely smiled. Really, all this hush-hush seemed rather ridiculous to him. The whole village knew about it—no one kept secrets in Balmay—because they had to provide the ceremony, food, and service needed to run the estate and a wedding. And why should he be hush-hush with someone who had a vow of silence?

"You have, haven't you?" Telmé rolled her eyes in despair. "Fine. Take her to Ulsa's. If she can take time from her solitude journey, maybe she can be some help?"

Coran almost chuckled at the lack of acknowledgement from the Lok'hai.

"No doddling, Coran."

With that, Telmé started back down to the estate house, her back as bossy as her mouth. Coran shoved his hat back onto his head. "Don't mind her," he told the Lok'hai. "Do whatever it is you do. If you do want to help out, that's fine. No one will bother you."

The Lok'hai bowed her head again.

Coran started down the wide path leading to the village. It really was just a small, crooked street of supply housing and a meeting house for the tribal homes further in the mountains. Here remote families could socialize at gathering times of the year, or come for aid or relief if need be. Still, Coran liked to think of it as his little town.

Today, the steady populace of house help were bustling back and forth from the house to the village buildings. Coran wondered if the Senator really had any idea how much work went into a small, quiet wedding. _Nevermind the wealthy_, he thought, hearing Telmé lamenting in his ear.

"Hope you don't mind this," Coran said when they reached the living quarters. He knocked on the door out of politeness, his eyes running up the leafy wall of the two-floor building. All the windows were open to the lake breeze.

The door opened and Ulsa, who thought _she_ owned Balmay, greeted him with raised eyebrows and a slightly soiled apron.

"Coran."

"Ulsa." He removed his hat and dipped his chin to the plump woman. "Do you have a spare room? We have a Lok'hai."

Ulsa, warm and soft if she liked you, cold and hard if she didn't, cast the Lok'hai a cursory look. "I suppose she won't be in the way if she stays out of things. Master of ceremonies just came in about an hour ago from Lopai. He's dipping his finger in the pudda, I bet, now my back's turned."

Ulsa huffed a little breath and tucked her graying, flyaway hair behind her ears. Coran had yet to see a tidy bun last long on that head. "Fine. Come in. I suppose you want feeding, then?" she said to the Lok'hai behind his shoulder.

The monk-girl shook her head. Coran thought he detected a hint of curiosity in those wide, dark eyes.

"You'll be fine with Ulsa," he said to her.

Her eyes focused on him, and through the blur of the veil, he thought he saw her face soften. As if she wanted to smile at him.

"If you need anything, just let me know," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a little heavy in his feet, as if he did not want to leave her. "Anything at all. I'll be on the dock or up at the house seeing to things. Just ask someone to get ol' Coran for you."

Now why did she look so sad? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him?

She did that little bow with her head. Then, so graceful and light, she went to Ulsa and the open door. Coran watched her float behind Ulsa, a shadow, into the house.

* * *

She had pulled the night's fog inward, woven it into a tight, impenetrable veil around her. 

Naboo filled the air, was the very breath of the breeze. If she stretched out with her senses, they would hum with its day song, warm and lush with just a hint of crispness. But she did not stretch out from her veil. Coolly she acknowledged the passing of her birth home somewhere in the dark, clouded night. But Naboo was no longer her home, and, like all things, the emotion it held should pass.

She was separate. Behind the veil.

Eyes fastened far across the glittering lake on the south passage, Sabé sat cross-legged under the protective shroud of arching trees and bushes masking this look-out point over the lake. Her mind clicked rapidly over all she had learned from the talkative lake master. Somewhere under the cold, solid veil, something simmered. She acknowledged it coolly for what it was, but would not let it rise.

Calm, cool, and collected.

Sabé drew her palm-sized visual comlink from her belt and activated it. As she waited for Yoda to respond, she smirked at the wonders of Jedi technology and efficiency. Simple, practical, and unassuming in appearance, Jedi belts could compactly store a plethora of gadgets and capsules needed on diplomatic missions that often took a more aggressive turn. The comlink resting in her palm could only be activated by a Force-sensitive, and its signal, wonderfully, was very difficult to trace (no signal, she knew, was completely untraceable).

The small device vibrated almost imperceptibly and then a blue flicker appeared above the flat surface. The little static cloud formed into a miniature Master Yoda, though his eyes seemed as large and unblinking as ever.

"Sabé."

"Master."

Sabé knew she could not hesitate, could not conceal anything. "I am on Naboo waiting for the Senator and Skywalker to arrive. There is a complication."

She took a deep breath.

"They are to be married."

The holo flickered. Yoda's long ears rose, his eyes widened. For a long moment, he said nothing, and then, finally, he raked his long, sharp claws through his wispy mane.

"Know this, how do you?"

He was not doubting her word, Sabé knew. "The lake master told me. It is supposed to be a secret, but the keepers of Balmay are rather open about it. The master of ceremonies arrived just before I did. Skywalker and the Senator are due in two hours. They are to be married at sunset."

She tried to keep any derision from her voice. Sunset, honestly! Had the Senator completely lost her mind? Marrying a Jedi, to whom marriage and love was strictly forbidden? Not only that, but trying to conduct a secret wedding in romantic fashion when the Republic was going to _war_? Incredible. Just absolutely incredible.

The lurking something stirred like a twitching tail.

She would have to tell Yoda.

The Jedi Master let out a sigh and looked up at her.

"Right, Obi-Wan was," he sighed. "Cautioned the Council against Skywalker's attachment to the Queen. Too eager to place confidence in him, the Council was."

Sabé understood Yoda's meaning. Although she never dealt with the Jedi Council, she knew of its divided stance on Anakin Skywalker, Chosen One or not. This division manifested in reservation, seeming to the unruly Padawan as if the Council were against him. In an act of goodwill to settle ruffled feathers, and perhaps giving in to the pro-Skywalker members of the Council, the Jedi leaders had granted him a solo mission and great responsibility of protecting the Senator.

They had overcompensated.

"Master," Sabé said quietly, as Yoda seemed to be lost in thought. "Where does my order stand?"

Yoda blinked meditatively at her. "Trusted, he cannot be. Broken his oath, he has. Murdered first. Now falling from the Jedi, Skywalker is."

Sabé closed her eyes. _So be it_.

"I must be honest, Master," she said, opening her eyes. Although her voice was void of emotion, she could feel it quivering somewhere deep. "I am not certain I can complete this task with the Senator present. I want to believe I can, but I . . . I fear my emotions may interfere."

Yoda gazed at her silently, his eyes unreadable.

Sabé waited.

"Of clear mind, you must be, to complete this task," Yoda said finally. He tapped his gimer stick, its sound coming across the galaxy in little clicks. "Feel, if you do, that this you cannot do in the Senator's presence, wait you must. Ordered, Skywalker is, to join Master Kenobi in three days."

Sabé listened carefully to her Master's orders, letting them fill her head and focus, pushing everything else temporarily away. If she could not trust herself to complete the task here, then she had a few hours on a freighter before he joined Kenobi, who would be just one of many Jedi being dropped off around the galaxy clarify the Republic's war mandate to worried and confused systems.

"Look inward, you must," Yoda concluded. He bowed his little head, his holo seeming to fold in on itself. "May the Force be with you, Sabé."

* * *

The pressure to scream. Or kick something. 

Or be sick on the polished floor.

The sloping, illuminated confines to the ship's throne room were too small, too tight for this, but there was nothing to be done about it. She desperately wanted to kick the bulkhead, but the Queen's travel gown was not very mobile.

Sabé's painted lips quirked at the thought. Then she resumed her pacing.

It was a not a proper pace, but it would have to do. Even though only she, Rabé, and Eirtaé occupied the chamber, she could not toss dignity to the sands. Queen Amidala was steadfast, did not break under pressure. She did not show emotion, unless to level a hard glare.

She, Sabé, had been leveling quite a few of those today.

The heavy, feathered headdress kept the decoy from shaking her head ruefully. The morning had started early and unsettlingly. Once Amidala had given them _all_ the details on Master Jinn's "plan," Panaka had been irate, and Amidala had more or less given Sabé permission to give Obi-Wan Kenobi "a little tongue" for withholding information. Eirtaé had snorted, earning a glare and eye-roll from Panaka. It'd taken Sabé a moment to catch on to Eirtaé's reaction, and then she'd been beyond grateful for the white mask.

It had been her first glare of the morning.

Amidala, thankfully, had been oblivious to all of this.

Without breakfast (not that she had much of a stomach for it today), Sabé ordered an audience with Obi-Wan, trying her best to keep Eirtaé's smirks and barely stifled snorts out of her mind. Frankly, she was rather shocked and displeased with Amidala's full version of the doings in Mos Espa, but she could not really bring herself to be upset with the younger Jedi. Being under command herself, Sabé was willing to bet—but not with the bloody _ship_—that Obi-Wan had been withholding under orders.

Still, she had to let him know she, the Queen, was not happy about this. Panaka, unfortunately, was overzealous, probably secretly delighting in his validated mistrust in the Jedi.

"_Captain_,_"_ Sabé had snapped. _"Contain yourself."_

_Panaka stopped his tirade on Obi-Wan Kenobi, his mouth remaining open for a fraction of a second as he turned to her. Sabé gave him a hard, unyielding look. It was _her_ glare, not Amidala's, but Saché had once told her it was just as fierce and uncompromising._

_Panaka shut his mouth and stepped back from the Jedi. Sabé silently scolded her superior a second longer, and then turned her eyes to the Jedi._

_Obi-Wan had taken Panaka's yelling in stride, not a flinch crossing his passive face. He stood, arms loose at his sides, lost somewhere in the flow of his long robe, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his eyes. Sabé fought the urge to grin back and instead kept her voice and face stern._

"_The Captain is right," she said darkly. "Master Jinn has stepped beyond his bounds. This ship belongs to the Naboo, _not_ to the Jedi. I believe many cultures—including ours—would consider this act stealing."_

_Obi-Wan started, looking caught between defense and disarm. "Your Highness," he said tightly. "I understand your . . . displeasure—"_

_Sabé raised her eyebrows a fraction._

"—_and I admit it to be valid."_

_Panaka snorted. Sabé briefly spared Obi-Wan her stare to silence the Captain. How could she be expected to act with perfect dignity when he, her senior and superior, was behaving like a child?_

_Obi-Wan, to his credit, plowed on as if Panaka did not exist. In the second it took Sabé to shush Panaka, the Jedi's face had slipped into serious innocence. "I believe, Your Highness, my Master believed he had your permission to use what means necessary to secure a hyperdrive, and thus, your safe passage to Coruscant."_

"_We gave him permission to use our jewels for barter, not our ship." Sabé wanted to say more, could feel her incredulity rising in her throat. But she fought it down. She would not lash at him, would not reiterate the audacious circumstances surrounding this race and bet. Obi-Wan was well aware of them._

_And she needed to stay composed._

"_I understand all betting is validated by the Hutts," she said._

_Obi-Wan seemed to straighten a little. He'd obviously been bracing for another tirade. "Yes, Your Highness."_

"_Then it is too late." Sabé swore silently. Ordering Qui-Gon Jinn out of the bet would result in the Hutts discovering them, which would not result in anyone going to Coruscant for help. "Master Jinn has played us well."_

_Obi-Wan was giving her a keen look, and behind her, Eirtaé shifted slightly. Sabé wanted to curse Jinn's audacity. He very well knew that he would not have the Queen's permission in this, but by placing the bet, he left them no option but to see it through. And he'd left his apprentice here to deal with his actions._

_The decoy and Padawan stared at one another for a silent moment. Sabé sensed he was not happy with the situation, either. Recalling his words while he stood vigilant at her side last night, she could not be angry with him._

_Just with the situation._

_Obi-Wan's face seemed to soften as it had last night. "Please, trust us, Your Highness."_

_It seemed such a ridiculous request, after being tongue-lashed for breaching that trust. And she would have said so, if not for the sincerity in his gaze last night and now._

"_I have no choice, do I?"_

Sabé paused in her slow, methodic pace of the throne room. Something had flickered in Obi-Wan's face then, but she could not define it. Almost like her words had hurt, but that was ridiculous, and her words had been the truth. Qui-Gon Jinn had left them no choice.

She'd dismissed Obi-Wan, ordering him to keep her fully informed from now on. He'd bowed out, his face unreadable. Panaka, looking eager to continue without her warning looks, started to follow.

"_Captain. Let him go."_

_That was a mistake_, Sabé thought ruefully. Unable to heckle the Jedi Padawan, Captain Panaka had turned his simmering thoughts on the handmaidens. Finally, unable to take his disruptive presence any longer, Sabé had ordered him away. Eirtaé and Rabé then spent a good five minutes badgering their absent commander before falling quiet.

And the quiet had continued all morning, only briefly broken by a half-hearted attempt at levity. Talking about the situation made them all sick.

Now, it was just the waiting.

And waiting.

Oh, and waiting.

It seemed to Sabé the past six months had merely been training for this long, tedious, gut-wrenching moment for fate to either bless them or damn them.

She was beginning to think it had all been a waste.

_Such negative thoughts we're having_, a lighter voice teased her.

The handmaiden paused again, facing the empty throne. Rabé and Eirtaé were sitting on the bulkhead benches on either side, to all appearances either dozing or doing a good job of pretending. Seeing them soothed some of Sabé's nerves.

Enough of pacing, there were better ways to cope with stress.

Eirtaé and Rabé looked up as Sabé resigned herself to the throne again. "I'm going to meditate for a while," she said quietly. "Could one of you watch the entrance and warn me if anyone approaches?"

Rabé nodded and took new sentry by the entrance.

Sabé smiled at her, and then closed her eyes, thinking how much she would rather be in the other girl's place. Always behind a shoulder or watching nearby; a shadow in the room instead of its centerpiece.

This thought carried Sabé deep into herself, beyond the cumbersome fabric swathing her, past the steady thumping of her heart, the deep, throbbing rhythm of her blood. Her breathing resounded around her, like a soft, steady barrier that warded off intruders. She sank past it with her thought, drifting softly down into a familiar yet always intriguing and enlightening cocoon.

She had always known she was meant for greater things. She, herself, was not meant to be great. Nor did she want to be. But even as a small girl from a mountain village north of Thasyin, Sabé had sensed she was part of something greater. A small part, probably only insignificant, but intricate nonetheless. She had no extraordinary talents; she was just a fast learner. Her fellow precocious classmates shone in their brilliant lights, excelling in one form or another, illuminating their futures as leaders, scientists, artisans, musicians, and inventors. But not Sabé. Her instructors said she was talented, but they could never say precisely in _what_ or _how_.

Sabé did not mind. She did not want the spotlight, did not want greatness. To be of it—yes, she yearned for that—but that was_of_, a piece, not _it_. Once, she had tried to explain this to Saché, but she feared her words were insufficient. Saché had laughed it off. _"That's just your shy girl excuse. I think you should cease with the philosophy classes, by the way."_

Then Captain Panaka had arrived at the Thasyin university, and Sabé could put her feelings into action. She immediately excelled at the weapons training, but her instincts were not her own, but part of a something greater. That was fine. Things were beginning to fit, _she_was finally fitting, no longer an irregular piece of the puzzle. She fit behind the shoulder, melded into the shadows. As handmaiden to Queen Amidala, Sabé could suddenly place words, actual names, to this "greater" of which she knew she must serve. Queen Amidala was idealism in action. She, too, was greatness embodied. Serving her meant serving the Naboo and its people. The spotlight was on Amidala, and Sabé could do her small part under the hood, in the shadows, behind her shoulder.

That was what she did not like about being the decoy. Here she had no shadow, no shoulder to stand behind. A mask, yes, but the spotlight could melt it away. Then she would fail her Queen, be unworthy of her duty. A chipped piece.

Resting in her cocoon, Sabé studied this fear. It was valid. She would not ignore it, nor should she. Unfortunately, the fear fed her impatience, which in turn snacked on her uncertainty. She saw herself standing outside the ship, shrouded in Tatooine's night, her fear and uncertainty dancing under the starlight. Then the tingling warmth of the Jedi's presence bubbled in her memory, soothing the shaky dance while bringing other worries to bear.

Tingling . . . Dare she ask the others about it? Sabé could not quite tell the source of her fear. She feared Rabé and Eirtaé would say no and give her suspicious looks. Only Panaka knew of her almost-life with the Jedi Order. She rarely thought of it, until now. It made sense with everything else. Apparently, she was part of the Force but not shining with it like a Jedi.

So, what did she fear? Maybe she did not fear the source of her fear . . . but that sounded a little mad.

Unfurling, she rose up from the deep place, letting her senses stretch out like invisible fingers through the barrier of blood and breath. She followed her exhale out into the chamber as her skin itched in acknowledgement to the heavy gown hiding it. Eirtaé and Rabé's steady, silent breathes brushed against her ears. Below her feet, the common room buzzed with anxiety and dissent in the aftermath of Panaka's tantrum.

Sabé hovered in this outward state, letting physical details come to her. No thought, just absorption. When she came out of her meditation, she would be better able to deal with the high tension straining the bulkheads.

She fancied she could mentally travel the ship and spy on others, swoop down upon pilot banter or even discover where Obi-Wan was avoiding everyone. The corridors opened before her, formed by her memory, and she passed through them almost playfully. If only she really could haunt them like a ghost—

Then she felt it.

An odd sensation, like a soft _bump_ that left tingles around her. The port corridor seemed to flicker and retract, a hazy image hovering around her senses. She refocused on it, wanting to continue her game, let her imagination out, if only to pass the time . . .

_Bump_.

A tingling brush.

Almost like a soft, hesitant kiss . . . or how she imagined one to be . . . _What a terrible description_, she thought vaguely as the corridor dissolved, _Papa and Mums's kisses don't tingle, that's silly—_

Red-white alarm sirened through her mind and her mental shields flew up.

Sabé gasped as her eyes flew open and the throne room flashed into harsh, physical life.

Eirtaé was at her side in an instant, Rabé already halfway across the room.

"Sa—Your Highness?" Eirtaé murmured, her voice hitting Sabé's ear and ricocheting off her pounding heartbeat.

"I—"

An all-too-familiar sensation played along her neck. _Oh no, oh no, oh no!_ Sabé swallowed the panic rising up her throat, but she must have looked wild-eyed when she turned to Eirtaé, because the handmaiden backed up a step.

"The Jedi is coming," Sabé said tightly.

Eirtaé gave her a quizzical look but obediently fell behind Sabé's left shoulder. Rabé took her right. Sabé had only two seconds to compose and brace herself before Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the throne room.

He stopped shortly just within the threshold, as if entering the wrong room. Sabé had a wild urge to pretend she had not noticed him, but then the Jedi's blue-gray eyes locked on her and he came forward and bowed. His eyes never left her and Sabé's heart wilted under the intrigue she saw there.

"Jedi Kenobi." Somehow, somewhere, Queen Amidala's voice floated into the throne room. All calm, aloof, and in command. "Has Master Jinn finally remembered his manners?"

_Oooh, snarky._

"No, Your Highness—I mean—" Obi-Wan paused, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. "I have no word from Qui-Gon as of yet. The race is, I believe, running. It should not be long now."

The next question, of course, would be: _Then what are you doing here?_ But Sabé did not want to ask this, did not want to play this game. The Queen's disguise was at stake. Yet she needed to know if, somehow, Obi-Wan had just bumped into her mind. How much did he know? Was her decoy already discovered? What would he do?

She would have to play the game.

_Beware the playful Padawan_.

Obi-Wan was waiting for her to play, but Sabé stared at him expressionlessly. She would play on her terms, not his. She just hoped it did not result in a silent staring match.

Perhaps he thought the same thing.

"I was merely touring the ship and thought to check in," said Obi-Wan.

Was it her imagination, or was there a double-meaning behind his words?

"How thoughtful of you." Yes, let a little sarcasm in. Just a touch. Sarcasm, perhaps one of the lower defense mechanisms, was always an ally.

Obi-Wan's mouth twitch upward again. "I am only here to serve, Your Highness."

_Then serve your posterior out of here_. Sabé, thankfully, was too trained to say it. The silence seemed to stretch, urging her to fill it with "indeed." She resisted and continued to stare Kenobi down. _I will not give in, I will not give in_.

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered downward and Sabé raced his averted gaze. With a jolt, she realized her fingers were kneading the fine, black layers of fabric in her lap. Immediately they ceased, folding shamefully into stillness.

When she looked up a second later, Obi-Wan looked decidedly smug.

Almost against her will, she gave in to the smarmy bugger.

"Is there anything else, Jedi Kenobi?" she all but snapped.

Oh, yes, there was a flash of blue triumph.

"Actually, Your Highness," Obi-Wan said, somehow sounding formal and conversational all at once. Yet Sabé felt like she was under interrogation. "Curiosity brought me here."

_Of course it did._

"I was meditating a few minutes ago, and while Jedi cannot actually read minds, we can _sense _minds."

She could feel Eirtaé and Rabé inhale. She had to take control _now._

"I believe I know your enquiry," said Sabé. She thanked her training she did not sound breathless or scared or disturbed. "Meditation is a custom on Naboo. With all the tension and uncertainty onboard, I'm sure you can understand why a crew member would wish to find some inner quiet. I am sorry if someone has disturbed you."

Obi-Wan said nothing, his wretchedly steady gaze never leaving her. She prayed he would take it. Whether or not he believed it a _crew member_ he encountered or not, she just wanted him to shut up and take it. Sabé knew that in meditation one should not be able to trespass on another's mind, but rumored had it Jedi could. Now it was obviously a fact.

"It did not disturb me, Your Highness," said Obi-Wan. "I was only surprised." He paused and Sabé felt, like she had last night, he was looking _into_ her.

She focused on not blinking, on keeping her mental shields tight and blank.

"I take my leave, Your Highness," said Obi-Wan, bowing. "I will return when I have word from Qui-Gon."

He lingered for a second longer than necessary, and then—finally—left the throne room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The sun was beginning to dip below the mountaintops by the time a medium-sized gondola bumped up against the dock. Coran, Telmé, and two house servants stood waiting on the dock, an air of expectancy and excitement glittering around them. On the steps leading to the house, the robed master of ceremonies and another villager watched. No one noticed the Lok'hai monk crouched in the foliage above the dock; no one had seen her for some hours now and more intriguing things were unfolding in full sight, anyway.

Upon spotting the gondola's approach, Sabé had moved closer to the dock, slipping deeper into the shadow game. Now her keen senses could intrude on the mutterings of the Balmays and observe minute details without strain.

Amber light glinted off the silvery casing of a battered protocol droid preening under a fresh polish. Beside it, squat but active, a familiar astromech twittered and whistled as its dome head swiveled around. They sat together behind two humans, looking like two bickering children in this family gondola.

Sabé had braced herself for this moment, had meditated the hours away, had focused her mind and drained herself of emotion.

Anakin Skywalker stood out of the gondola, his tall, lean frame shrouded in a dark, almost black robe and leather vest. His right hand winked metallically, flashing briefly to the barely stifled gasps and whispers from the watching entourage. Something like pain twisted across his tan face and then the skeletal hand disappeared inside his sleeve. He turned back to the gondola, his left hand extended to the small woman awaiting him.

A fist went through Sabé's gut. Grasping and wrenching it in a tight vice.

Amidala rose out of the gondola, radiant under sunset's glow, a brilliant smile lighting her face as she gazed adoringly up at Skywalker.

It filled Sabé with ice.

Last she'd seen of Amidala had been her retreating back. The last time Sabé had seen her face, her eyes were cold, hard, and unforgiving. The last smile heartless and calculating.

Sabé's fingers twitched on the little dart gun.

"_My personal happiness has nothing to do with this."_

The former Queen, beautiful as ever, stood on the dock, her hand lost in Skywalker's as she turned to give her reception a gracious smile. They were her court. She wore a two-piece wrap set of sky blue, the jewels of her hair ribbons sparkling subtly, dancing with the shine in her eyes. She kept turning to Skywalker, each look giddy and a little wild.

"It is a wonder to see you again, m'lady," Coran said warmly, bowing to her. "And you, Jedi Skywalker," he added, though Sabé detected a hint of reserve in the old man's voice. The smile did not quite reach his eyes, a wariness touched his weathered features. But he plowed on. "We've got everything ready, just like you requested."

"Thank you, Coran," Amidala said, her voice floating softly but clearly over the dock.

Telmé stepped forward, a clean apron covering her skirts. "May I escort you to the house? Coran and the others will see to your luggage. Evvé is waiting to help you."

Skywalker and Amidala began to sweep down the dock as Coran and the others moved toward the gondola's back cargo compartment. The nervous cry of the protocol droid brought everyone to an abrupt halt.

"Oh, Master Anakin, sir!"

"Oh—Threepio." Skywalker whirled around, his cloak adding drama to the simple movement. "Sorry, Threepio," he said quietly. He dropped Amidala's hand and extended his fingers.

The protocol droid let out a little "ahh!" as it rose smoothly out of the passenger carriage to settle onto the dock. R2-D2 twittered amusedly and fired his launchers, shooting straight up and then arcing gracefully to thump down beside his taller companion.

"Show-off," Threepio scolded.

R2-D2's response was disturbingly close to a giggle. He rolled forward and Threepio tottered after him toward Skywalker.

"Really, Master Anakin," it said, "I appreciate your assistance, but I wish you would not do such things. It agitates my circuits—"

"I'll warn you next time," said Skywalker. He reached for Amidala's hand again and together they rejoined Telmé, who looked rather bemused by the droids' antics.

The lake master and his assistants returned to the gondola. Sabé watched in surprise as a very small man's head popped out from the back cargo compartment. Coran let out a surprised hello as the little man hopped up onto the dock.

"Oh!" Amidala gasped. It was her turn to whirl around. She had the decency to look embarrassed. "I can't believe I—well, I can—I have other things on my mind." She flashed Skywalker a knowing grin that made Sabé feel ill.

Telmé looked as if she shared Sabé's sentiment.

"That is Lanin," Amidala explained. "He's here for Anakin's . . . injury."

"Oh, yes. I suppose something got confused in the transmission or Coran forgot." Telmé glanced at the fifth member of the Senator's party, tossed Skywalker a slightly reproachful look, and then beckoned her guests up the steps to the house.

Behind them Coran and the others were unloading the gondola. Four travel cases and a rucksack in all. Lanin picked up the smallest travel case in one hand, giving the rest a cursory sniff. Sabé suspected the largest case, about the size of a man, contained a beautiful wedding gown fitting for a former Queen. The other two were smaller, more manageable, and probably held the rest of Amidala's hide-out wardrobe.

"At least the Jedi packs light," one of Coran's helpers muttered as he snatched up the small rucksack.

"Why exactly did she bring an astromech?" the other murmured.

"Or that sorry-looking protocol droid?"

"Everyone needs a guest list. And I think the protocol droid belongs to the Jedi."

"Since when do Jedi own droids?"

"Since when do Jedi marry?"

"Quiet now," Coran ordered. "Let's get these up to the house. We're on a sunset schedule." He turned to Lanin. "Hmm, you're not the first unexpected guest today. Come along, we'll find a place for you."

The entourage, loaded with cases, proceeded up to the house. Once again quiet settled over the empty dock, the lapping water gently filling the gap of departed voices.

Hidden, Sabé crouched, frozen.

She'd had every opportunity to strike. Skywalker had been wide open to her, oblivious to everything around him but Amidala. But she had not taken a shot.

Slowly, she looked down, her hand clutching the dart gun unfolding.

"_I fear my emotions may interfere."_

Sabé stared down at the small, lethal weapon in her palm. The shock of seeing Amidala still surrounded her, clung to her like the night's cool fog. Almost numb, but not quite. It would burn through, eventually. Maybe too soon. Like morning.

_I have to burn past it_.

Focus. Think. Analyze.

Anakin Skywalker was dead. She retained no emotional attachment to him. Yes, he had once been the heroic little boy who'd help save Naboo. He had once been a headstrong, precocious Jedi Padawan she'd observed on missions. Once. The man-boy that had stepped out of the gondola did not fit. Was out of balance. He wore the cut and braid of a Jedi Padawan, but he was breaking the Code. His oath. A darkness seemed to embody his robes, mocking his Jedi appearance, reminding Sabé of the murders on Tatooine. He was Jedi no more.

Anakin Skywalker would be dead.

Yes, a slight unease existed in her over this. Murder never settled well, Sabé knew, but she would take the death of one over the death of many. Anakin Skywalker was dead.

Sabé studied the dart gun. She'd loaded two cartridges. They rested in their slots, death in waiting. Xrak toxin. No known antidote. No immune species. A half-ounce would kill a grown human in seconds. It was outlawed in the Republic and generally avoided in the Outer Rim. Anyone apprehended with it was immediately arrested, more often than not sentenced to death.

But, like many things outlawed, Xrak came with disguises. Its . . . supporters were gifted in cloaking it, and Sabé knew more than suspected that affluent Republic officials were instrumental in funding the toxin on Coruscant.

"_No longer taking them alive, I see."_

Sabé closed her fingers over the gun and looked up at the house. Harried Naboo bustled in and out; she could see movement through the large, open windows. Skywalker and Lanin were out on the stone balcony over the ledge, the tiny man about the same squat height as R2-D2.

She decided to move closer. Slinking through the growing shadows, her presence tight against her like skin. A distant pounding sounded in her ears, the edge of her vision a little fuzzy as her center focus sharpened.

Skywalker had removed his cloak and rolled up his right sleeve to reveal his skeletal lower arm. Sabé could not help but wince. Yoda had told her the extent of Skywalker's battle wound, but she still felt a little queasy looking at it. Tiny electrical lights pulsed up and down the wiring nerves inside the structure. Lanin stood on a stone bench against the low, vine-covered wall of the balcony, an instrument case open at his feet. He wore small spectacles over his broad nose as he examined the artificial limb, muttering incoherently to himself.

Skywalker was impatient. He kept looking back into the house, ignoring Lanin's protests.

"This really isn't the time for this," he gritted when Lanin scolded him.

"Do you want your arm to work or not?" Lanin, for being so tiny next to the tall boy-man, could level a fine enough glare. "If you will just concentrate, it will only take a few minutes. Then you can pace and worry until she comes out."

Skywalker glared down at Lanin for a minute. When Lanin merely blinked, he took a deep breath and gave the little man a tight smile.

"Very well."

Sabé watched, rather fascinated, as Lanin took Skywalker through a series of exercises in flex and control. Naboo had excellent rehabilitation facilities that attracted outer world patients with the need but not the means. She wondered which one Lanin came from; he had to be one reason for the delay in coming to Balmay.

_Focus, Sabé._

She had the perfect opportunity. Again. Skywalker was distracted, out in the open. She could be down to the dock and across the lake before the panic settled enough for someone to think of the Lok'hai wandering the forest. Then she could abandon the gondola and take to the mountains, appear in her home village as Sabé, then return to Thasyin and leave Naboo.

"You're coming along well, Anakin," said Lanin approvingly. "You'll be ready for your casing."

"Thank you, doctor."

Lanin smiled a little and turned to pack his instrument case.

Now.

Sabé slid the dart gun across her left hand, steadying it as she focused and sighted. The Force, so tight around her, drew even closer, tighter . . . She adjusted, just a hairline . . . Her thumb brushed the safety, unlocking . . . The command traveled from her mind, down her arm, into her hand, to her index finger—

"Anakin."

Sabé jerked back.

Skywalker whirled around, struck.

Amidala stood under the sculpted arch, the deepening pink and gold rays of sunset setting off her glowing skin and resplendent, flowing gown. A happy blush touched her cheeks, her large, dark eyes shone, a wide, uncontrollable smile graced her beautiful face. Under her lace veil, her hair cascaded and flowed like the long train behind her.

"You look—" Skywalker swallowed, lost of her words, frozen before her.

Amidala ducked her head a little and fidgeted with the top, delicate layer of her gown. "I always wanted to wear my mother's gown," she said softly.

A shadow flitted over Skywalker.

Amidala looked up again, the blushing smile gone and replaced by something intense and heated. She stepped forward, saying, "But it doesn't matter. It's only a gown. _This_ is so much more."

A wide, boyish smile flashed across Skywalker's face. "You look beautiful in anything, Padmé," he said hoarsely, his hands taking hers and running up to her elbows, drawing her closer.

Sabé felt sick. Dizzy.

Amidala smiled and Skywalker's boyish look turned disturbingly intense. "You are everything to me, Padmé. Everything."

His grip on her elbows tightened and Amidala winced.

"Oh—no—" Anakin dropped his right arm. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to—I don't have complete control yet—"

"It's all right, Anakin," said Amidala soothingly. But Skywalker was clearly unsettled by this and started to step back. Amidala reached up to touch his cheek, drawing him back to her. "Ani—it's all right." She smiled a little. "I have a different gown than I imagined, and you have a different arm. It's a little romantic."

He gave her a disbelieving look, shook his head, and then finally smiled ruefully. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you, Padmé."

Sabé had long studied the subtlety in Amidala's face to catch the flicker of uncertainty there just as Skywalker lowered his head to kiss her.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat. "That comes afterwards."

Amidala and Skywalker pulled apart, looking a little sheepish. Suddenly the balcony was full of people. Evvé, a slender girl not more than seventeen, scooped up Amidala's long train as the master of ceremonies and the young couple moved out to the end of the balcony. Telmé directed the two droids to bear witness and then pulled Evvé away, ushering everyone back inside to watch through the columns.

Sabé couldn't move, couldn't think as the marriage creed and oath drifted past her. All she could see was the giddy, happy glow on her former friend's face as she'd looked at Anakin. The awful cold of their parting echoed somewhere around Sabé, but she could not drum up any feelings of revenge and only felt sicker at the thought. She would not kill in revenge. Nor could she watch that giddy happiness die before her very eyes.

Trembling, Sabé stowed the gun dart away as the sun dropped further behind the mountains and the shadows grew long and deep. She looked away as Amidala and Skywalker kissed, sealing their vows, completing their oaths.

A cool, aloof corner of her mind scoffed. How delusional could Amidala be? Skywalker did not honor oaths. What made her think one sealed with a kiss would be any different? Sabé gritted her teeth. Clearly an understanding of oaths still eluded Amidala.

_Look at you,_ Sabé thought, shaking her head at herself. _She wronged you, you cannot forgive, and yet you still want to spare her._

Oaths run deep.

Unable to take the scene any longer, Sabé retreated back to the tiny village. She rounded it through the steep growth surrounding the niche, entering the village opposite the estate house. Another plan of attack came to mind, but was quickly dismissed. She could ask to be of service and tamper with one of the meals. But what if Skywalker sensed the danger? What if her shadow game failed and he suspected her? What if Amidala accidentally consumed the poison? Or recognized her? And what if she was successful? Amidala would have everyone in the village apprehended and investigated to find the source of the poisoning. Sabé could not involve anyone.

No one to blame. No harm to come to anyone but Anakin.

Keep it closed. No link to anyone.

Sabé entered Ulsa's quarters and hurried upstairs to her small let. Below her the dining Balmays conversed over the wedding, their muffled voices a distant hum as she silently paced in front of the bench-bed. The single window's shutters were open to dusk, adding little light to the room, but she did not bother with the illumination bank.

She paused before the window, looking out into the purpling world.

Many wishes passed through her, none that could be granted if wishes ever were.

* * *

A soft trill startled Sabé.

She blinked. It was full night. All was quiet. How long had she stood here at the window?

Shaking her head, Sabé activated the soft illumination bank and went to her satchel for the comlink. She waited until its message light turned red and then pocketed it. She knew who it was from, who it could only be from.

Regret pulled at the corners of her mouth. Then she went to the window and swung gracefully, silently down the vines to the ground.

"You_trounced_ him! I still can't believe it!"

Sabé barely had time to turn before the shouting blur plowed into her, nearly swinging past and taking Sabé with her. The blur righted herself, long dark hair swinging wildly as she locked an arm through Sabé's.

* * *

"_Trounced_," Saché declared gleefully. "Absolutely trounced!"

"Yes, you keep saying that," said Sabé, glancing nervously around the pillared west corridor. All she needed was one of the schoolmasters to come storming out of a classroom, hissing for quiet and slashing their scores—or worse—forbidding them from sitting the exams—

"Oh, come on!" Saché giggled. "I _know_ you're pleased."

Sabé ducked her head, trying to hide the grin threatening to split her face. "Yes, all right," she said after a moment, lifting her chin. "I am pleased."

Saché's laugh bounced off the marble pillars, echoing down the long curve of the outside corridor. Students hurrying to class or taking a moment to gather themselves in the gardens looked up, either curious or disturbed as they passed. It was review day and tomorrow the exams would start in earnest. Sabé bit her lip nervously, thinking about the long week ahead.

"You can take longer to gloat," said Saché. "Save your seriousness for the classroom, missy."

Sabé grinned at Saché. The fourteen-year-old's hair was still damp from the showers and falling in frizzing waves around her shoulders. Sabé had likewise forgone the time it took to dry her hair, but she had the mind to make three thin braids on each side of her head and pull them back with a clasp to keep tidy. Getting a demerit for untidiness would dampen the warm glow of triumph in her, surely.

"I still can't believe it," Saché said, her arm still through Sabé's. "You got Ashdon, and you _smashed_ him! How did you do it?"

Sabé shrugged, thinking back an hour ago to her weapons exercise test. What would her mother say? She was already horrified her only daughter was studying the old dance-art of fighting instead of "actual dance" beyond the school's requirement. Nor had she been pleased when Sabé's marks in weaponry and tumbling edged over her academics. Sabé could very well imagine the defeated eye-roll when her mother learned she'd just topped everyone!

Especially Rodhric Ashdon! Sabé could barely suppress her glee as she replayed the kill point in her mind. She'd beaten Rodhric Ashdon. Trounced him. When it came to marksmanship, Sabé reigned in the class, but physical floor dueling was her weak point. She was too slight, too small against bigger, stronger opponents. Sometimes her agility and instincts helped her, but the boys in the class were quick to use their strength to their advantage. Especially Rodhric Ashdon. Tall and broad, arrogant and cunning, he ruled the school as well as the duel floor. He took it as a great offense whenever Sabé bested him in marksmanship, and so took great pleasure in killing her on the mat or pestering her in the corridors.

_Not anymore_.

Sabé could not quite say _how_ she bested him today. Maybe her intense desire to rid Ashdon of that arrogant smirk, or the pressure to do well today . . . She only knew everything had been _right_, every move _perfect_. She didn't remember feeling anything except the rhythm and dance of the duel. Perhaps she had finally excepted Ashdon was a better fighter than her, that she never would be top in any one class, just close to the top, and that was fine . . . and somehow coming to terms with this had cleared her of any inhibition, any emotion that would interfere.

The old bow had felt wonderful and comforting in her hands. She could still feel it, like solid liquid, however ridiculous it sounded to anyone else.

Saché elbowed her, bringing her back to the present and the question.

"I don't know," Sabé said honestly. "Everything just felt_right_, you know?"

Saché widened her dark eyes. "No, I don't know. But you had this—I don't know—Lok'hai thing going on. Like when you're meditating, except a bit . . . deadly." She grinned madly. "It was fantastic! Master Cjane has it on holo and he's going to archive it."

"Really?" Master Cjane always complimented her form and often used Sabé as an example of "intelligent, instinctual battle", but she never expected him to archive her duels.

"Really."

The girls slowed as they neared the government lecture hall. Students were trickling out from a finished review. Although they were not required to wear uniforms on review day, many did, probably out of habit or superstition. Sabé did not like the somber, unhappy faces emerging from one of her least favorite halls.

"Hours of my life I will never get back," she muttered to Saché.

Saché snickered and tugged Sabé away from the entrance, where queuing students were exchanging greetings with those trying to escape Mistress Orlé's Lair of Political Doom. Sabé caught a flash of a certain face before Saché pulled her behind one of the pillars.

"What?"

Saché grinned mischievously at her. "I bet word's got around."

"So?" Sabé started to glance around the column, but Saché tapped her on the shoulder.

"I bet _he's_ heard," Saché said significantly.

Unbidden, unwanted, Sabé felt the burn in her cheeks. "_Saché,_" she warned, trying to look menacing while resembling an overripe miika fruit.

"I wonder what he'll say?"

"Saché!"

"Maybe you'll actually _talk_ to him. With _words_. Syllables went out with the wheel, you know—"

"Saché, please!"

"Oh no, I've got it! Maybe he'll ask you to the relief ball—"

"How about I show you how I trounced Ashdon?"

"I was there, silly, I saw, it was great like I said—"

Sabé whipped around, using their linked elbows to swing Saché against the pillar, her free hand closing over her friend's mouth. Saché's eyes went wide in astonishment, but then she started to shake, her lips trembling with muffled laughter under Sabé's palm.

"It's not funny." Sabé released Saché and picked up her dropped bag. Hopefully she had not damaged her datapad.

"Sorry, but it is," said Saché, but quietly.

Sabé peeked around the column. The scene was clear, everyone had gone inside to Mistress Orlé's Chambers of Eternal Boredom.

Her stomach fluttered.

"Oh, gods."

Saché put an arm around Sabé's waist, her head on her shoulder. "I don't think the Dragon Lady considers vomiting an excuse to miss her spectacular review."

Sabé snorted.

"Just think—you'll be all the buzz and he'll _have_ to ask you—"

"Saché," Sabé said pleadingly, "you haven't told anyone, have you?"

"No." Saché gave Sabé one of her rare somber looks. She placed her left hand over her heart. "Your secrets are always safe with me, Sabé." Then she flashed a sneaky grin. "Now, Aliya Darli on the other hand . . ."

"You're going to be late," said Sabé, looking across the garden where Saché's next class was held.

"No worries," Saché said airily, dropping a kiss on Sabé's cheek. "Master Po will be shocked I bothered to come at all."

Then, with a fluttering wave, she was off through the wide, encircled garden, her dark hair swinging free and wild in the late morning sunshine. Sabé watched her dearest friend for only another second, and then quickly spun around to her own hall. She passed through the threshold just as the bells chimed.

"Glad you could join us, Miss Mabriee," a cold, harsh voice rang above the bells.

Sabé kept her eyes down, wishing she could point out her utter lack of tardiness. But she did not want to die. Instead she silently made her way across polished marble floor under the high, cavernous dome of the lecture hall. Not for the first time, she wished her desk was closer to the door, or that it was merely another row over.

The braver of students turned to watch her embarrassing journey, their glances darting under Mistress Orlé's predatory eye. Sabé caught winks and flashing grins, but she felt a little dizzy and sick to return them. Saché would have held her head high, a victorious smile on her face, as she marched grandly to her seat. And maybe Sabé could have held an air of dignity, if not for the bloody seating arrangement.

Her seat was empty, waiting for her. Sabé focused on it, made it her one goal: get there before she vomited. Without looking anywhere else, she slid into her seat and placed her datapad in the groove and looked straight ahead at the Dragon Lady's disapproving face.

"Now that we're all accounted for . . ."

Sabé did her best to listen, but she could sense the faint whispers fluttering around her, could feel the eyes watching her. It was a strange feeling. The curving walls seemed to ripple with it. Sabé tried to focus on her datapad, on Orlé's sharp, cutting voice, but the whispers swirled and she wanted desperately to look to her left.

"_Maybe he'll ask you to the relief ball . . ."_

_No, of course he won't. _It did not matter, anyway. After this week, they would all be parting for the holiday and the next step in their lives. Some would go to a higher university, others would focus on a career, and some might even leave Naboo for other worlds of opportunity. She would join her father on one of his runs, possibly see the Core, while she avoided her mother's doting and tried to decide what to do next.

So, really, it made no difference if she ever spoke in full sentences to Alek Nylan or not.

Still, her rebellious eyes slid to her left and her insides squirmed.

Alek Nylan—top of their year, popular like Ashdon, eye candy for the girls with his wavy hair and quiet smile. Native to Thasyin, he was considered one of the most eligible youth with his aristocratic heritage. Rumor had it he secretly wanted to be a starfighter pilot, but his parents were aiming him at the Theed Council or even the Republic Senate. Sabé did not know the validity of such rumors; she had never asked. All she knew was that, even when they were assigned projects together, her mouth and brain disconnected, her insides did disturbing things, and—most painful of all—he was nice about it and pretended not to notice.

At the moment, Alek was entering notes on his datapad, apparently oblivious to the stirring around him. Sabé looked at her own notes, wondered when she'd become illiterate, and chanced another glance.

He was looking at her.

Sabé felt a funny sort of jolt and quickly looked ahead. She stared unblinkingly at Mistress Orlé's stiff bun of dyed black hair, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods . . ._

"Hey, Sabé," came the inevitable whisper.

Too weak to ignore it, Sabé looked over, hoping she did not appear to be in pain.

Alek raised his eyebrows, a small smile dimpling his cheeks. "Is it true?"

She gave him the slightest nod, her eyes tracking the Dragon's lecture prowl. She wanted to die. If the Dragon caught her even trying to talk to Alek, then she _would_ die. Too bad her tongue, the strongest muscle in the human body, had atrophied again.

The Dragon was saying something about Amidala, Princess of Theed, who'd won the election two days ago, but Sabé was at a loss. Not that it really mattered. After the exam, she doubted she would have to bother with politics and the tangles of government again. She would vote, surely, but that would be her extent of politics—

"Pardon the interruption," the soft but artificial voice of a protocol droid's voice came over the public address system. "Would Misses Sabé Mabriee and Saché Orzkal please report to conference chamber number four, please? Thank you."

All eyes turned to Sabé.

"What did you _do_?" Alek asked aloud.

Sabé only shook her head, for once her word loss having nothing to do with him. What _had_ she done? Had Ashdon contacted his parents and had them complain to the headmaster because he had been thoroughly beaten by girl a third his size? What did that have to do with Saché? Or was it that little stunt they pulled last semester—?

"Mistress Orlé?"

The Dragon gave her a curt nod. Sabé shoved her datapad into her bag and slid out of her seat. Alek was watching her wonderingly and she tried not to trip as she hurried down the aisle.

The moment the hall door shut behind her, Sabé let out a long breath. She paused to collect herself and then walked briskly toward the east wing, all the while her mind racing. She'd never been called out of class before. Not even for the time she had told Rodhric Ashdon off in the central courtyard for bullying one of the first years.

Alek had been there, had cheered her—but that had been before she'd become deficient. Still, maybe he remembered that and didn't think her a bumbling idiot after all—

Sabé gave her head a firm shake. How could she think about a boy when she could be in serious trouble?

She slowed a fraction when she reached the east wing. If she was in trouble, at least she could muster a little dignity.

"Sabé!"

Saché was waiting for her by a statue of King Folluna, the first king to rule Naboo after the last civil war.

"What's this all about?" asked Sabé, keeping her voice low. Conference chamber four was just around the corner.

"I have no idea, but I suddenly wish I hadn't dressed down." Saché gestured at her casual attire of blue tunic, beige trousers, and worn brown leather boots. Her hair was lost completely.

Sabé glanced down at her own clothes, glad she looked slightly better. Her own navy tunic was from last year's uniform; the white embroidering gave it dignity she did not presently feel, and her soft blue skirted trousers and clean, black boots looked more presentable next to Saché's more tumbled, mountain girl appearance.

"Come on," Sabé said, fidgeting with the clasp on her bag. "If this is about the headmaster's prize equine, then it won't matter what we look like."

"Oh, that was brilliant, wasn't it? I wonder how he found out about that . . ."

Together they rounded the corner and Sabé slowed.

A gold protocol droid stood outside the open door to the conference chamber. Standing beside it was a dark, forbidding man in royal uniform. She'd seen him before. This morning, in the exercise arena . . . She had wanted to point him out to Saché, but then she'd been called to take her three archer shots and all thoughts of the stranger had vanished.

They must _really_ be in trouble.

"Misses Mabriee and Orzkal?" said the droid.

"Yes," said Sabé, her eyes on the stranger. His stern face revealed nothing as he stared back at her.

"The headmaster has secured you passes from classes for today," the droid continued. "Please, come in."

Sabé exchanged a speculative look with Saché as the stranger gestured for them to enter first. Usually introductions came before the invitation to sit down, and what sort of trouble were they in to bring a royal officer here to Thasyin, bring them to a private chamber, and secure them passes for the rest of the day?

It wasn't like they'd harmed the headmaster's equine any . . .

"I hope the refreshments are satisfactory. If you need anything, just press the call and I will return immediately. Thank you. Have a wonderful day!"

Sabé did not watch the protocol droid totter out of the small chamber; she was too busy watching this stern man. The room itself was not intimidating. The stone walls gently curved to the tall window overlooking the east terrace. A round, polished table filled the center of the room, accentuating the soothing flow emanating from the four small fountains in each spooned corner.

"Please, sit down," the man said, gesturing briskly at the high-backed, cushioned chairs.

The two girls sat wordlessly. He continued to stand across the table from them, hands clasped behind his back, his cap sitting like a centerpiece on the table.

"I am Captain Panaka, Head of Palace Security."

_But we broke into the headmaster's office, not the palace!_

"What is said in this room, stays in this room," Captain Panaka continued, pinning them with a hard frown. "You can only tell your families what I _tell_ you to tell them."

Saché cleared her throat. "Um, I do not mean to be rude or disruptive, whatever my record says, but—are we in trouble?"

Captain Panaka raised an eyebrow. "Do you have reason to believe you're in trouble, Miss Orzkal."

"Not today, no."

Sabé kept a straight face, but nudged Saché's boot with her toe.

Captain Panaka stared expressionlessly at Saché for a moment. Then: "No. You are not in trouble. Both you and Miss Mabriee have been selected for appointment. By the way, Miss Mabriee, excellent work this morning."

Sabé gaped. "T-thank you, Captain," she choked out. Then she frowned. "What appointment?"

Captain Panaka gave her a small smile.

* * *

The moment continuously replayed in her mind. Skywalker, exposed and vulnerable, her finger on the trigger, her heart pounding in her ears, everything deathly silent—and then _she_ shattered through it, wrenching all duty and training aside to be radiant and oblivious and foolish and—

Sabé took a calming breath but exhaled it too quickly. She tried again, concentrating, until she could breathe without sound, without emotion.

Yet her throat remained tight and dry.

She forced her pacing to still under the dappling protection of the evening trees. Had she not hesitated, had she been ruthless and steadfast, she would not be in this predicament now. She would be on her way back to Coruscant, safe in hyperspace with only her morbid thoughts to plague her.

But no. Sabé gazed down at the comlink clutched in her palm.

_I don't want to do this._ Breaking her own code. _I have broken it already. _It was the only way. Too weakened by emotion, old emotion. She had to, or the mission was lost.

But there _are_ other ways, a voice whispered silkily over her shoulder. Other ways to cover her hesitation, make her _feel_ the trigger and mortal strike. Old anger, old hurt. Revenge.

Revenge she did not want, did not seek. _Nor should I_.

Sabé sighed and thumbed the comlink's smooth, curved surface.

Old thoughts. Aged past the night and day she lived with them.

This was the only way. So be it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

A vague, hazy overcast clouded Thasyin's usual brilliance as the gondola glided over the bobbing waters of the return dock. The calls of loaders seemed muted more than usual as they competed with the constant whine of gondolas and the shrill beeping and twittering of traffic droids guiding barge loads in and out of Thasyin's canal thoroughfares. Sabé welcomed the need to concentrate as she guided her small gondola into its return slot. Not until she was stepping onto the solid platform did she let her focus return to its center, to her second return.

The dock buzzed around her, tweaking her senses; voices pounded into her ears, distinctive and droning at once; her eyes roved the swirling splashes of color as people, droids, and animals moved about. She felt attuned and detached, as if experiencing it all through a very thin screen. To the casual observer, she moved gracefully, steadily, but Sabé could feel the hesitancy in her steps, feel the balky shift of weight in her feet. If she were at liberty, she'd fancy the dock eternal and her steps only a timeless path in another life.

Now was not the time for fancy.

Now was the time for action.

For amending her error, her weakness. She mustn't fail.

Sabé gritted her teeth.

_Silly girl_.

Before she even reached the end of the dock, Sabé spotted the figure she needed, but a little jolt in her chest made her wish it had taken longer. That she had not been there. Held up or unfaithful or—Veruna bless it—untrustworthy.

A slight woman stood at the end of the return dock, spooning a dish of cold sweet cream as she casually watched the activity around her. Glossy, dark hair was gathered back into a braided bun at the nap of her neck. Although she wore sensible, businesslike maroon and navy, she carried a young, whimsical air about her. Her forceful nose and strong chin pointed to mischief and a rare but impressive temper.

The last Sabé had seen of Saché Orzkal had been her friend's sympathetic but warning look before Padmé delivered the shocking blow.

_I have already spoken with the others . . ._

Sabé's jaw tightened.

As if sensing her, Saché's dark, keen eyes spotted Sabé. Her familiar face swam in a mixture of joy, excitement, curiosity, and hesitance before old handmaiden training locked naked emotion away behind a quiet, guarded face. Just as her voice had been last night.

Sabé started toward her, last night's transmission playing through her mind.

"_I didn't know if you would comm—I mean, I knew you would, why would you not? Oh, there's so much to—"_

"_I cannot speak of this. I need your help. You may refuse."_

Curt and emotionless. She cut Saché's every attempt to connect, to speak to _Sabé._ This was business. This was the headdress, the hoods, the shadows. The handmaiden had taken over, but Sabé had heard the strain of hurt underneath the clipped tones matching hers.

"_So much I want to ask," Saché sighed, when they concluded._

"_You cannot."_

"_Ah, so _are_ you Republic ops?"_

"_I cannot say."_

"_You_are_!" Pause. "I know, I know, cannot confirm or deny. Trust me, I know."_

Better to let her believe it, Sabé knew. Saché could not know her help—help given from loyalty and the deep friendship that once bound them—would bear her former Queen's husband's death.

_I have already spoken to the others . . ._

Amidala had not been the only betrayal. Sabé focused on this as she met Saché Orzkal's gaze and stopped before her former friend.

Saché's eyes widened, making her childlike as she held her dessert bowl, a little cream dotting her top lip.

"Sabé," she said quietly, almost warily. Wonderment flicked across her face, escaping the familiar mask of handmaiden stoicism. "I—I can hardly believe it."

Sabé stared back coolly. Saché had known. They all had.

Something unfamiliar flickered across Saché's face as Sabé remained silent and expressionless. "You look . . . different," Saché said slowly, a frown tugging at her mouth. "I don't want to saw drawn, but—yes, you look _drawn_."

Sabé could not say her old friend's bluntness was comforting.

"Oh, for galaxy's sake—_say_ something, Sabé!"

"Is there a place we can discuss the arrangements?"

Saché sighed and slowly stirred her melting dessert. "Yes," she said resignedly. "Your ship—if that's all right with you. Really, it's more secure than, say, a small, out of the way café."

Sabé nodded and set off, murmuring, "I'm sure you know the way already."

Saché assented. She disposed of her dessert and matched Sabé's brisk but seemingly unhurried pace. A handmaiden walk for errands: undisruptive but efficient and quick. The former decoy could feel Saché's appraising glances as they left the back docks of Thasyin to a corral of speeders and carts. Saché motioned to a small two-seater in an exclusive, marked-off row for easy access. Wordlessly they started off across Thasyin to Sabé's let hangar, Sabé unwilling to speak and Saché, perhaps, afraid to.

Out of the corner of eye, Sabé studied Saché. Contacting her had been a desperate, probably weak move. Only weeks ago, Sabé would have harbored fantasies of being reunited with her nearly lifelong friend, of recovering the last good bits of her past life. But failing at this mission forced a cold reality upon the former handmaiden.

It helped somewhat.

If only somewhat.

"I know I'm not the most intuitive person, Sabé," Saché said as they sped along the winding streets, "but I'm sensing you are avoiding what must be said."

Sabé stared straight ahead. They were nearing the hangar and their speeder decelerated. Saché flashed her pass to the patrol droid and proceeded to the small bay where Sabé's Lorian waited. Before she had even contacted Saché, Sabé had considered the possibility of Naboo security already seizing the small cruiser and waiting to pounce on and arrest her. But, despite everything, despite herself, she trusted Saché to hold her secrets just as she had in school.

Sabé glanced across at the other former handmaiden. Saché switched off the speeder and met Sabé's eye.

"I wish you weren't a stranger," she said quietly.

Sabé turned away and got out. The security droid cleared them through, and Sabé felt a small bit of relief to find her instincts had not failed her. The Lorian rested quietly, untouched and surrounded only by the smooth, curving walls of the bay. As far as she could tell by stretching out with the Force, everything was intact and unharmed.

Still, apprehension hummed through her as she led Saché in through the hatch. Without bothering to 'tour' the small vessel, Sabé dropped her satchel on the sleep bench and turned to face Saché with raised, expectant eyebrows.

"I recognize this ship," Saché murmured, her eyes roving the simple, efficient contours. A hint of glee crinkled the corners of her eyes. "It's a Republic special ops vessel. Older and less known, but I've got a good eye for them. So, that settles it."

She turned to Sabé, looked her up and down, and then took a deep breath. "I just can't believe it." Then, in a stronger, accusing voice: "What _happened_ to you? You just _left_! How could you disappear like that without telling me? We were best friends once!"

"Oh, really?" Sabé arched an eyebrow.

"Not sure I like how you said that." Saché shook her head. "No. Really. What happened? Amidala only told us you two had a disagreement, and you decided to leave because of it."

Sabé snorted. "That's dung if I ever heard it."

"So, then what _really_ happened?"

"I thought you knew. You all did," Sabé said accusingly.

Saché's eyes were wide with loss.

Suddenly it became a little clearer, a little harder. _I really should have killed Skywalker at her wedding. _Speaking coldly, distantly, Sabé said, "She dismissed me. Without honor."

"No!"

"Yes."

"_No!_"

Sabé waited. Saché shook her head as if to clear it, then blinked at Sabé as understanding dawned on her face.

"But why would she—? She dismissed all of us, but why you in such a way? We all had our theories, of course . . ."

Sabé waved a hand dismissively. "I don't want to discuss it." She shot the other woman a hard look. "I want to know why you did not tell me she would be dismissing us."

"What do you mean?"

_I_really_ should have ruined her wedding._ "Amidala told me she discussed our dismissal with all of you before she tossed me out."

"No," said Saché, shaking her head, dismay splashed across her face. "No, she didn't. About a week after you . . . left, she told us her decision to phase us out for senatorial handmaidens. Rabé thought it had to do with you, but Eirtaé thought it premeditative—anyway, she kept us on till term ended and had us train Dormé and Cordé. Frankly, I didn't mind so much. I felt a little, I don't know—insulted?—but I was getting rather bored, anyway. I've had my eye on Intelligence for awhile . . . Still." She gesticulated at nothing in particular, asking for forgiveness from Sabé. "I didn't know. If I had, I would have told you. I know how much being a handmaiden meant to you."

Sabé looked away. "It doesn't matter." Then she assumed her business face and voice, knowing she sounded dangerously close to her decoy voice. "To business. Skywalker's transport off-planet."

"Yes." Saché stared blithely at Sabé for a long moment. "I'll have you know, I do not buy your sketchy explanation as to_why_ you must know this. If the Senator's safety is in any sort of jeopardy, it is my duty as both Naboo intelligence and handmaiden to see it is not."

Sabé shrugged. "You will just have to accept this. I cannot tell you why I must know. Surely an intelligence officer understands."

Saché shook her head. "I just do not understand _you_ anymore."

Sabé kept still and expressionless. The words seeped past her, like sullen rain over smooth hull.

"Fine." Saché produced a small datachip from an inner pocket in her long, flared sleeves. "I compiled the information for you. Skywalker's ship number, cargo manifest, its docking and schedule—everything. He disembarks on Wydrillion. I _think_ he's meeting someone there—" She paused, shrewd and sly. "I can only guess _who_, and I think you know."

Sabé opened her palm for the small chip.

"Fine." Saché dropped it into her palm and crossed her arms. Sabé examined the chip carefully before pocketing it in her compact little utility belt. She wanted to leave, wanted Saché to be gone. Yet again she could almost feel what it would have been like had things been different. The memories would be good, of school days in Thasyin where her insecurities cumulated in silly worries over social interaction and a childish crush, of nights spent gossiping and chattering over life in the palace and teasing the Queen through her irritable moods . . .

No good could come from thinking like this. What was done was done. She could not think about Saché and what might have been, nor could she fully consider the part Saché unwittingly just played in, quite perhaps, ruining Amidala's life.

"Thank you, Saché," she said, finally. It tasted like a lie. A horrible, twisted lie. Metallic and rusted through.

Saché smiled a little sadly, and Sabé could not quite sustain her gaze. "I'm sorry. For everything, you know." Hurt filtered through. "I just wish you trusted me enough to have told me. Or say good-bye."

She wanted to say, "I trust you completely. Even when I thought you betrayed me. It is you who should not trust me."

Instead, Sabé only said, "I'm sorry, too." Then she gestured to the hatch.

Saché nodded. Just before she dropped out of sight, she turned back around. "We are not friends, are we?"

"I don't know." _Ah, how honest the liar is now_.

Saché turned and disappeared, her departure silent enough to make Panaka proud. Sabé stared for a long moment at the gape left behind. The meeting, reunion, did not feel real. Had she felt during it? Should she have? Already, before it had time to form memory, it had passed it into the fading, hazy lace of old daydreams.

She closed the hatch and went to the computer console in the forward compartment. Reading the chip's contents, her mind settled into plotting.

* * *

Having a ship more or less of one's own can be very convenient in certain situations not involving meticulous assassination. When attempting to assassinate a Jed in-transit, with a very small window of opportunity, said ship can become a cumbersome burden. According to Saché's thorough research and scheduling, Sabé had a small time frame to destroy Skywalker aboard the _Kaadu Majest_ before he reached Wydrillion. Ideally, she could target him aboard the cargo and passenger ship out of sight from other travelers, and then deposit the body somewhere on board and disembark and be gone before anyone noticed. The Lorian, however, remained a problem. She could book a placement in the hold—Saché had provided access—but this would draw more eyes. She could also leave the ship behind on Naboo, but then she must return for it. All in all, it was too much maneuvering for the short trip to Wydrillion, and even then, she may not find the opportune moment.

So, Sabé found her third option. Lessen her opportunities by traveling less conspicuously. Saché, bless her naivety, provided Sabé a complete timetable of ships for and leaving Wydrillion. She had dock numbers, routes, alternatives, loading and unloading, check-ins, customs . . . everything. The former handmaiden did note, however, that she could not specify which ship the Jedi were arriving in. She had contact with the Order due to the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala and correlating Skywalker's return with the needs of the Jedi. But since the Jedi were traveling privately and under impending war circumstances, they were not listed.

Saché added as a side note: _The Jedi know nothing of the holiday, of course. Originally she would drop him off on W when she returned to C, but alas, less public, the better. _

Piecing together Saché and Yoda's information, Sabé left Naboo for Wydrillion. Speaking to the Jedi Master over her failure was difficult, but it had to be done. Yoda had been curt, his words seeming to come from within her rather than across a vast galaxy. She must do and be done with it. The best negotiators in the Order were being dispensed across the galaxy to worlds wavering in uncertainty over the Republic's official pronouncement of war. The Jedi, with their limited fleet, were ship-pooling to nervous systems. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were assigned to Wydrillion.

The Lorian prismed out of hyperspace into the Outer Rim receiving ring. Other ships, mostly freighters and combination passenger/cargo, were also reverting. Although she was in relatively dead space, Sabé could just make out the winking of ships jumping Coreward and Mid-Rim. Two small caravans, one including freighters for Alderaan and Corellia, were slowly approaching starboard to the Outer Rim jump quadrant. Spaceport patrol ships guided and flanked the caravans, their orange hulls and rotating band of pulsing lights making them easy to spot.

Traveling under a private license pass, Sabé was able to bypass the customs trajectory and head for her given bay.

Wydrillion was not a planet. The system only had one planet, which remained uninhabited due to the ferocious, toxic storms that raged within the sphere. Droid expeditions into the black swirl of a planet usually ended in fruitless investment and scientific frustration. Five moons orbited the seemingly invisible globe. The three main satellites—Wydr I, II, and II—supported life on their own, and IV and V provided spaceports and mineral mines. Despite laying away from the main trade runs, Wydrillion had become a useful and key spaceport to the Outer Rim and Edge Worlds, as well as an alternative route for the Mid-Rims.

Sabé understood the Republic and Jedi's concern for the trade post. By being so far from the Republic, Wydrillion had become an element of its own. The Trade Federation had long ago turned up its nose at the "upstart" post, leading other major corporations and businesses to also overlook its potential. However, with increasing taxes and tariffs, as well as fighting over trade lanes, some had turned enterprising eyes onto the black planet and its five moons. Sabé remembered listening to her father speak of Wydrillion. To a small merchant, it meant breaking even, coming a little more on top. Here he could save fuel and fare. Bidding not exactly outlawed by the Republic but definitely 'discouraged' by the Trade Federation flourished. Wydrillion, as Sabé came to understand it, was the merchant's more upscale and legal Tatooine.

But the Republic stood to lose this thrift port of guilds and privateers. In the past year, the Separatists worked to bring Wydrillion under their fold. Although the Trade Federation was one of Wydrillion's iconic adversaries, the offer was appealing, the mission statement reflective of the spaceport's own atmosphere. If Wydrillion seceded from the Republic, other spaceports and systems would follow.

Systems seceding . . . war declared . . . a clone army of the Republic . . . It all seemed so unreal. Wars were read about in history texts, learned about in school. She knew many systems in the Republic had inner wars—she had not known how many until she lived under the Jedi—but it still felt foreign. Displaced and wrong.

War, however, was not her current concern.

* * *

The_Kaadu Majest_ moaned with a whining sigh as its engines wound down into their cooling cycle. Powerful, thick 'legs' anchored the mottled ship to the docking bay. Its bow stretched out to the bridge; the graceful arch curved over the gravsleds and carts buzzing around the ship, like its amphibious burden namesake searching for treats. As the engines continued their long sigh, customs officials at the terminal prepared for disembarking passengers.

Crouched spider-like on a support strut even with the ship's bridge, Sabé watched the scene unfold. Her sight was sharp, the Force humming tightly around her as she waited in the high shadows. It would be a little longer before the passengers were allowed off the _Kaadu Majest_, even a Jedi. She knew every hatch, every outlet on the vessel, knew where to keep her eyes moving in event Skywalker preferred singular exits. This bay, Force bless it, rested at the end of a long terminal. If Skywalker exited starboard, he would be met with only two choices: wall or coming around the hull to portside. No service exits, no ventilation shafts.

Sabé scoured the bay below her as she waited for the Naboo ship to release its passengers. Yoda had told her estimation when Kenobi would be dropped off on Wydrillion. She had little hope the Jedi transport would be delayed, but she had not seen any sign of the dispatched Knight as of yet. Still, she kept her senses alert.

Risking a brief lapse, she checked the dart gun in her hand again. Nothing could go wrong this time. When she looked out again, she saw the scene anew, let it pierce her again. After a moment, she decided to adjust her position. Moving silently and swiftly, a mere whisper in the criss-crossing shadows, Sabé moved closer. Beneath her but so close, bay crews bustled about. A small freighter was approaching, its thrusters hissing as it glided in beside the _Kaadu Majest_. It looked clumsy and awkward next to the _Majest'_s organic design.

A green light blinked along the _Majest_'s pedestrian way. Sabé's senses flared in anticipation as the passenger hatchway opened.

A tingle danced along the back of her neck.

Sabé's eyes snapped away from the first passengers to a hooded figure approaching up the terminal. Although his face was lost in the hood's shadow, she knew the slow swish of the robe, knew the play on her senses. Her stomach contracted as she pulled the Force tighter around her.

_Damn it_.

Her mind flashed to the last time she'd encountered the Jedi in a spaceport. Two years ago. She had been sick, feverish, infected by a virus on a world she had just left.

_The current of people swirled around her, dizzying and pounding. Sabé wiped the sweat off her cold brow and pulled her cloak tightly around her. She'd lost sight of Master Hon'tal and her Padawan, but that was fine. Different mission now. Yoda said to return if she could, but—what was it? Seek medical attention. Yes, that was it._

_But_where_ was it?_

_She tried to separate the blurred colors. A flash of brown topped in orange—Hon'tal, there she goes! No help. She needed to stop, she needed to breath. The colors, the noise—_

_She must have halted, or the current changed, or—_

_Sabé shook her head, trying to clear it. Pain shot up her knees. Was that blood on her palms? Someone pushed her, there's a foot . . . "Watch where you're going, already!" Think, Sabé, think! Back to Maghull—no, Coruscant—Yoda, he'll know what to do._

_The fever had not been this bad when she'd left. Sabé bit her lip and sucked in deep breaths through her nose. She had to focus. The fever did not affect humans as badly as the Maghus, but if it was not treated soon . . . _

_Grunting under the effort, she stood up and stumbled forward with the crowd. She had to find transport to Coruscant. Plenty to be had here, so Coreward. Jedi used this all the time. Main jump point. Yes. She wiped her brow again and blinked at the boards flashing above her. A ship roared to life to her left. The fever was making her tingle now. Odd, she didn't remember that symptom._

_Ah, that terminal, she needed the red line._

_Sabé stumbled toward the horizontal lifts. She fought shivers inside her cloak. Her muscles ached. Maybe she should have stayed on Maghull. But, no, too stubborn. Yoda would rap her with his stick for this._

" _. . . how many times, Anakin? How many? No, don't answer that. We will be thankful your impulsive antics did not erupt into planetary war. Again."_

"_You're embellishing, Master. Besides, it wasn't my fault."_

_She knew those voices. They were coming up behind her. Familiar, oh they could help—wait, no, no they could not. She knew them, but they mustn't know her. She tried to quicken her pace._

"_The problem with the galaxy, Padawan, is that no one accepts anything is his or her fault."_

"_I think the galaxy spends too much time placing blame. Master."_

"_Placing blame is one thing. Taking responsibility for one's actions—that, Anakin, is another. Unfortunately, the latter is the galaxy's weak point."_

"_And apparently mine, too. That's what you're sa—"_

_The world spun. A hand caught her elbow, cupping it as she stumbled._

"_Steady on, steady on."_

_Tingles raced up her arm and the Forced buzzed. Sabé tried to grasp it and pull it in, but it slipped through like water. She tried to stand as her head pounded and the air swam . . ._

"_Are you all right, miss?"_

_Sabé blinked and shook her head to clear it. Bad idea. She pressed a palm to her forehead, moaning. "No. Yes." _

"_Can we be of any assistance?" Hand on her elbow. Steadying, soothing, tingling._

"_No." Don't look at him. Get out. Get away._

"_Are you sure?"_

"_N—yes. Yes, I'm fine." Sabé jerked her elbow away but the floor moved again. She blinked and gritted her teeth. It steadied, the floor. Move away, move away._

"_Wait—do I know you from somewhere?"_

_No, no._

_Away, away, get away._

_His voice faded away._

Sabé snapped back to the present. She stared down at the hooded form of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a feeling like cold, heavy old porridge in her gut. It had not occurred to her until now, seeing him. It was not just Skywalker, a wayward apprentice, she would be 'ending,' but she would be depriving Kenobi of his Padawan. He stood to lose his chance at Mastership. And, possibly, quite more.

_Yoda will watch over him_.

So be it.

One Jedi Knight, check. The Padawan . . .

There.

Anakin Skywalker emerged from the passenger barrier, his lanky form swathed in his near-black cloak. He carried nothing, but as he lifted his right arm to suggest the Aqualish couple move to the side, Sabé caught a glint of docking light in his arm plating. The arm dropped quickly, as if skittish under keen eyes. The Padawan slipped through the passengers, an eel weaving through rocks.

Sabé lifted her dart gun, pulled the Force around her.

Skywalker paused, his former consternation clearing from his face as he focused on the task: finding his Master.

Now.

A simple, definite twitch of the finger.

The dart shot down, singing.

Skywalker whirled.

Sabé felt the surge in the Force, the spike of Skywalker twisting around in that fraction of a second between her and him. He froze, as if to let light catch up to his movement. The dart was stopped between his thumb and forefinger, like a deadly song caught in the throat.

Fierce, icy eyes lifted up, followed the dart's invisible path.

_Run_.

She was already spinning on her right heel as Skywalker's eyes met hers. RUN! No shadow game, no cloak, nothing could hide her from him.

Sabé leaped down to the service walk suspended above the pedestrian way, her landing light and almost silent as she called the Force into her run. She heard two shouts behind her, knew the Jedi were after her.

Up over a rail, up onto the crossing walk, under a strut, down to another walk.

She felt a new vibration under her feet. One of the Jedi had leapt on. Another would be on the ground. Pull ahead, flank her. Sabé reached out and swung up into the beams again, feeling them as much as seeing them. There . . . down below, a moving walkway and lifts. Get out of the terminal. Separate the Jedi.

Skywalker was in the struts. Kenobi had to be down below.

Sabé worked her way across to the other side of the terminal, her path moving steadily downward while seeming to zigzag. Skywalker gained behind her, opting for a more straightforward path to her left. On the ground behind her, Kenobi would have met the barrier wall reaching up to the catwalks.

When she judged the drop to not be fatal or injury-inducing, she leapt. A gravsled swerved to miss her, but she was already sprinting onto the moving walkway and shoving past pedestrians. More shouts behind her meant Skywalker was still in hot pursuit.

She burst out of the terminal wing into the lift and switch hub.

A gravsled loaded with luggage lumbered across the way. Sabé unsheathed the vibroblade along her arm, digging the blade along the hold panel as she spun past. The sled tipped and luggage tumbled out, spilling forth into the crowd. She dove into a service corridor she'd spotted earlier, and only then chanced a glance back.

Skywalker was just coming around the mess of luggage and disturbed, angry people. A Twi'lek woman grabbed his sleeve, shouting in Huttese at him and gesturing at her companion, who was trying to lift a large case off his leg.

Sabé faded back, her hand moving to the pouch of darts on her hip. If he got clear, she could get another shot.

Her fingers just brushed the canisters when Skywalker apparently spotted the corridor. She was completely lost in the shadows, but his danger-senses were full-on. He tossed the angry Twi'lek aside and sprinted for Sabé.

She whirled down the corridor to the service stairs and took them three at a time. Skywalker's heavier footfalls echoed up to her. When she got him close enough, she vaulted over the rail and dropped pinlike down the stairwell. She heard him swear furiously.

The landing was hard, almost wrenching. But she couldn't stop, couldn't let her joints even begin to absorb it.

She was out of the stairwell and into the next hub and terminal wing. Good. She slowed her pace enough to blend into the crushing tide of passengers hungry from their just-arrived Mid-Rim flight.

Before she even stepped outside into Wydr V's twilight, she felt him following her. The familiar tingle played along the nape of her neck. Sabé weaved, seeping through the seemingly solid wall of people. She edged along the outside walkway, saw the drop below and the level above, smelt the burn of thrusters.

A mercantile crew was trying to nudge through. Sabé gave way—

--and started to swing up onto the support strut—

--something pushed her.

She slammed down onto the rail, pain hissing through her teeth. He grabbed her arm, twisting her around, but she kicked out, hard. He grunted and pushed her back into the rail—he was going to pin her—

With an enormous effort, she pulled as he pushed, snapping her back around as she called on the Force. They rolled over the rail, the steel cold and hard as her body curved around it. She snatched the middle rail with her hands as he went over her and the rail and down.

Her feet caught the wall before her body could slam into it. She pushed off and somersaulted back over the rail just as Skywalker came bursting out onto the walkway.

Sabé needed to catch her breath.

Too bad.

Only vaguely wondering if he knew she'd just dropped his master, Sabé sprinted across the walkway, her mind focused on drawing Skywalker away from Kenobi. Again. This time for good.

Get to the ship.

The walkway curved around. Sabé leaped up onto the network of open-air windows between the two levels. Using the ledges like a ladder, she climbed to the roof of the covered bridge between two terminals. Ahead was the hangar with her ship. Hit Anakin near enough to it for quick escape. Or, if worse came to worse, draw him into the ship and finish it.

Her lungs started to burn as she sprinted over the bridge. Wind whipped at her, pushing her, slowing her.

Skywalker was right behind. Gaining, gaining fast.

Sabé felt the darts again. Still running, she loaded the gun, knowing the action would cost her speed. She was nearing the end of the bridge, the outdoor tier of walkways and balconies were beginning, the pilot's club, the guild headquarters—

They were both on the bridge. Two separate sprinting vibrations—oh, they blurred.

The bridge ended.

Sabé whirled, drawing on her reserve to sight as she fired her double-load.

Skywalker, a running blur almost upon her, twisted.

He stumbled slightly, a hand flying to his neck.

She was down in the open tier top, loading again. A blur—Kenobi—she barreled into him with her elbow and shoulders, but he caught her elbows like a child and stepped aside, letting her crash past with an extra toss. The dart gun skittered across the floor, her ankle twisted a little—but she was up. The gun—the gun—

WHAM!

Skywalker slammed into her.

Down they went, skidding over the sloping edge of the service ramp, falling, tumbling, rolling. They rolled over the ramp edge and fell, fell . . .

They slammed onto the hangar below.

Breath left, pain shot through her body.

She fought past the pain. Skywalker absorbed most of the fall. Most of it. Sabé had a second to notice their tangled limbs and the floor number—and then Skywalker sucked in a deep breath and rolled over.

He wrenched one arm under her body as he pinned her to the floor. She hissed as black spots danced before her eyes. His knees dug into her legs, pressing them to the floor as he put his weight on her. His face twisted in pain and anger as he glared down at her.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

She lifted her chin as best she could and glared defiantly at him. He wrenched her arm more. She winched but did not answer.

"ANSWER ME!"

It was then that she noticed the blood.

It flowed freely from a line along his neck. Warm, metallic drops fell like sickening rain onto her face. The collar of his tunic was black with it. A flesh wound, nicked the surface. Had it been enough? Or did the toxin bleed out? He should be dead by now . . .

"WHO ARE YOU? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?"

Spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes were red around the hateful blue. He was white, he was shaking. The blood, his blood was all over her. A devil, she was staring up at a devil.

"ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!"

He twisted her arm out and around.

She cried out.

Pain exploded through her arm and torso.

"_Answer me_," he hissed. Even through her agony, he sounded weak, wavering. The artificial arm pinning her right arm felt less steady, less controlled. His weight was burdensome, not strategic. His eyes were glazed with something other than pure fury.

She couldn't feel her left arm. Just pain throbbing, pulsing—

The vibroblade was along her right arm.

With her last reserve, she twisted and struck.

Skywalker screamed.

More twisting.

Excruciating pain ripping along her side—the blade—

Gasping, Sabé rolled and stumbled to her feet. Skywalker swore violently in gargled words as he tried to crawl for her. She looked around—there was the Lorian. So close, so far. Was Skywalker—? Would he—?

He somehow got to his feet.

"Anakin!"

Was she running? She had to—the Lorian. Hatch. Skywalker—right there—get him in, get him in—separate Jedi—separate—hatch—

He plowed into her, feral and screaming.

"ANAKIN!"

Sabé saw him running, almost here—

Her palm hit the console. The hatch door slammed shut.

"Wha—what have you—done to—"

Gods, the pain . . . Sabé turned to see Skywalker against the bulkhead, his head lolling as his eyes twitched and rolled wildly. His one hand covered his neck, blood caking on his fingers while his artificial arm clutched his bleeding side.

Someone was pounding on the hull. The hull shrieked in protest . . . lightsaber, probably . . . She struggled to breathe, to blink past the black dots . . . oh, Force . . .

She saw a tear in the cloth of his upper arm. Had she nicked him there, too? She couldn't tell. He was becoming blurry. Or was it her? Sabé squinted. A faint glow seemed to radiate like a mythical aura around Skywalker's slumped, convulsing body.

_I'm dying_. _I must be dying_.

Skywalker stilled. She couldn't hear him breathe.

So hard to breathe.

The glowing intensified, her vision danced.

Skywalker's eyes snapped open. He gasped, coming up for air.

Air left her completely. Sucked straight from her lungs.

She tried to gasp. No air to cry out as she fell on her side, no air to scream as she landed on her useless arm. The glow around Skywalker darkened, almost becoming a shadow. Or was that her suffocating?

Skywalker stared at her. Shock.

Understanding.

He reached out with his left hand. The bleeding stopped on his neck.

Understanding.

The shadows fell over him, onto her.

_He . . . he's . . . sucking the life out of me . . ._

Black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

She came to rather suddenly, as if someone had dowsed her in cold, metallic water. But then she went under again. Only a breath of oxygen, then more drowning, only now it actually _felt_ like drowning—it _felt_.

She came up again, a little sluggish and very cold.

Sabé slowly opened her eyes, wishing she could absorb everything slowly. But harsh, artificial light filled her pupils, striking her head with pain. The aching, dying embers of fire coursed up her arm. She felt recycled air work through her lungs, a tangy solid after drowning for so long. Hard, cold floor hummed almost imperceptibly beneath her aching body. Her arms—oh, it ached—her arms—

Alarm shot through her, jerking her. She hissed with pain as her head bumped against something hard. Swearing softly, she let the spots dance a moment, and then her vision cleared. It all became painfully clear.

Sabé recognized the small cargo hold of her cruiser. What did not rest easily in her mind, however, were her arms pulled behind her and locked around the strong pole of the cargo rack. She twisted around, feeling cruel irony mocking her as the wrist shackles dinged against the pole.

"Phreg it all," she muttered.

This, essentially, was not good.

Sabé closed her eyes and tilted her head gently against the pole. Find the center, let it flow but not flood . . .

She was alive, yes. It felt horrible.

She was being held prisoner. In her own cargo hold. That _really_ felt horrible.

The last thing she remembered . . . Skywalker, seeming to glow and then fall into shadow, gasping . . . she was gasping, she couldn't breathe, felt everything draining away and then nothing . . . Was he alive?

Sabé opened her eyes and shifted gingerly. She'd never felt so drained, so sore in the very core of her body. The last image to fill her head sent a shudder through her body. She grunted hoarsely as her shoulder protested. Her shoulder . . . she remembered that . . . and the vibroblade. Unfortunate she wounded herself in that, but she'd got Skywalker—was he alive?

Or had she finished him and now was being held prisoner by Kenobi?

And what if Skywalker lived?

He better be dead, if she were to be held captive by a Jedi, Sabé thought emotionlessly.

She breathed deeply, and felt great consternation at the effort it seemed to take. How could she be so exhausted? Something with her shoulder—dislocated maybe—and the vibro-wound—

Sabé looked down at her grey-clad torso, frowning. A clear slash had been cut through it and the fabric was blackened with dried blood—hers, mostly. Through the tear she could make out a pale, sticky yellow that an exploratory sniff confirmed to be a bacta patch.

She was just pondering over this when her senses perked up. Then the cargo hold's hatch swung open with a faint hiss and she instantly set her face.

"I see you're awake," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, entering the small hold.

Sabé knew it would be him, but she felt a painful little jolt in her chest nonetheless. Still, she raised her chin as he regarded her and met his stare.

No emotion, no emotion.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had changed since Naboo, yet something about the Jedi Knight seemed much the same. He'd grown his spice-colored hair out and pulled comfortably back in a small tail, but some renegade strands around his face managed to escape and play about his face and eyes. The stern furrow in his brow had deepened, but his blue-grey eyes, though regarding her coldly, were framed with telling crinkles of quiet mirth. Yet it was the beard that caught her attention and, if under different circumstances, amused her. To Sabé at least, it seemed the Jedi could not decide between growing a full beard in a blatant attempt to project authority over his wayward Padawan or remain in his youth as long as possible. Whatever the reason, she thought the light, trim thing looked rather indecisive.

But, of course, she would not tell him so.

"I do hope you are in a talkative mood," he said, crossing his arms.

Yes, some things had not changed.

Sabé did not respond, but her mind was ticking. Was Skywalker alive? Did Obi—Kenobi—know who she was?

"Ah, perhaps you are shy." Obi-Wan leaned against the bulkhead casually, conveying nonchalance and foreboding seamlessly. "I'm sure you noticed we took the pleasure of borrowing your ship? Yes—_we_." He shot her a hard, cold look.

Sabé's jaw tightened. So Skywalker had survived, after all.

"Forgive my lack of warm hospitality," he said blandly, nodding to her shackled position, "but I'm sure you understand. I did, however, set your shoulder."

Sabé couldn't help but glance down at the dull, aching joint. When she looked up again, she found him watching her knowingly, as if he could read her displeasure. Obi-Wan had the field training and mastered ability to heal this minor wound; the pain could be gone, her shoulder as good as or better than before. But, obviously, he felt little benevolence toward her.

"There was just enough bacta in your medical to see to that wound _after_ I saw to my Padawan." Obi-Wan stepped toward her, his air of conversation vanishing with the silent swish of his cloak.

"Why did you try to kill Anakin Skywalker?"

Sabé said nothing.

Obi-Wan's frown seemed to deepen, yet she could not actually detect the movement. "You _will_ answer me," he said, uncrossing his arms to rest on his hips.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she stayed silent. She should not be amused by his attempt.

"Ah, yes. I thought so." A sly flicker in his eyes.

And then, toying with her, he said nothing else. Sabé refrained from rolling her eyes. She would not give in to this battle of wills. Not this time.

But . . . she couldn't help but worry . . . what did he think? Did he know who she was? Or did he just sense the Force about her? How much did he know? And what state was Skywalker in?

The only thing she knew for certain was this: Skywalker was alive and she failed. She was also in deep.

And she did not want Obi-Wan to know who she was.

The Jedi seemed unperturbed by her silence.

"Let us try a primitive form of communication," he said. "I ask you questions, and you answer them." Obi-Wan paused, as if to let her reply. "Who are you and why did you try to kill Anakin Skywalker?"

Again, Sabé said nothing.

"Who hired you?"

Silence.

"It is better for you to answer. But I can wait." Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "Anakin has conditioned my patience." The mirth left his face as he knelt down to her eye level.

Sabé concentrated on keeping her back straight, on not blinking, on meeting his cold face straight on. She had wanted to avoid this. Had kept it so far from her mind in all this. Look away, look away, she wanted to look _away_—

"Are you one of the bounty hunters killing Padawans?" Obi-Wan demanded. She could feel as well as hear the heat in his words; something close to anger broiled darkly in his eyes.

_No!_ she wanted to shout. But she could not. Not a word, not a sound. She must reveal nothing. Keep the shadow game, keep her shields up. Stone, she must be stone.

Obi-Wan stared hard, inwardly, at Sabé. She knew what was coming and braced herself as she felt the Force shift. _No_. He would get nothing from her.

After a long moment, Obi-Wan refocused. The subtle pressure around her eased. The Jedi Knight's stern face softened subtly to a thoughtful look as he knelt motionless before her. Then his gaze dropped down to her torso.

Sabé jerked back as he reached out. The Jedi paused and looked at her, a hint of gentleness at the corner of his eyes.

"I am only checking the bacta patch," he said quietly.

Sabé could not tell him it was not assault she feared. She tried to give him her finest glare but had to look away as Obi-Wan gingerly lifted the hem of her torn tunic. She silently cursed the tingles playing along her neck and stared determinedly at a bolt in the bulkhead. The Jedi was methodical and considerate with this humiliation, only lifting her tunic enough to see to the bandaging, his fingers gentle. But it made her wish he'd just rip it off.

"Clean. No infection. You'll have faint scarring, but I believe that is the least of your worries," Obi-Wan said quietly, lowering her tunic.

Sabé straightened up as best she could as he balled the old bacta patch for disposal.

"Has she said anything?"

Sabé sucked in a tight breath as Anakin Skywalker stepped into the hold. A deaf person could hear the animosity in his voice. Worse—Sabé felt an icy wave wash over her and pressed her back into the pole.

"Not yet." Something flickered across Obi-Wan's face just before he stood and turned to face his Padawan.

Skywalker was not looking at his Master but glaring past him down at Sabé. The air fairly crackled with him, and she saw him over her, pinning her to the ground, his blood dripping on her as he shouted madly. What did he do? How did he survive?

He radiated heat, yet she felt so cold . . .

"Have you tried anything, Master?" he said meaningfully. "More powerful _suggestion_?"

"Anakin—" Obi-Wan paused and glanced over his shoulder. "We'll discuss this—again—but not in here."

Skywalker merely shifted past Obi-Wan, his eyes never leaving Sabé. He seemed to be unharmed, unscathed, as if she had never shot him with toxin or ripped a vibroblade through his torso. He should be dead.

"Don't make it personal, Anakin," Obi-Wan cautioned as his Padawan towered over Sabé.

Skywalker, his eyes bearing down on her, allowed a cold, humorless smile to stretch his lips. "Oh no, Master." He folded his arms. "There's nothing personal in you trying to kill me, is there?"

Sabé glared back. He was obviously trying to intimidate her in a much more direct manner than Obi-Wan; yet she found Skywalker's antics to be insolent. If not for the cold crawling down her back, she would have laughed in his face. Skywalker needed to learn strength and power was not everything.

Skywalker grew impatient with her silent glower and passed his hand through the air. "You _will_ answer me."

At this, she did let a smirk skirt up her cheek.

Skywalker looked furious.

"I've tried that already," Obi-Wan said with mock weariness. "The galaxy is full of stubborn people like you."

"I_can_ make her talk—"

"Not that way, Padawan."

Sabé watched and listened, considering their words. To all appearances, they were arguing about more severe methods of interrogation. But why in front of her? She would not put it past the Jedi to stage this for her benefit. If she did not acquiesce to their interrogation, there was the possibility of more persuasive, unpleasant methods. Of course, she knew Jedi did not resort to torture, but did they know she knew this? Apparently not. Often the very mystery surrounding the Order enhanced a certain wariness in those apprehended by Jedi, enabling interrogation to proceed without ever having to threaten hostility.

But Sabé also knew, if this was staged, there was another current running under it. She had observed Kenobi and Skywalker before. Over the years, Skywalker's impudence had not lessened. He acted before thought. Did not consider the consequences. Sabé had little doubt he did not balked at using questionable methods on her.

"This is not the time," said Obi-Wan sternly, cutting the argument short. "We have other obligations at the moment."

Skywalker muttered something as he disappeared from the hatch. Obi-Wan's gaze followed his agitated Padawan for a moment before settling on Sabé again.

"Perhaps when I return, you will be up for a chat," he said. "I'm sure you will be devising an escape plan. By all means, do so. It will pass the time. But it's generally acknowledged that vacuum is not much better."

Sabé bit back a retort.

"Now, if you will excuse me."

She watched him go. The hatch closed into silence. She tugged at the manacles again, their clinking echoing in the quiet. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she bit back a cry. After a minute of struggle, she gave up and slumped against the pole again.

_Calm down. Think._

Sabé inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, drawing on the Force. It felt heavy and sluggish, her connection frail as her body felt. Skywalker glowed hazily in front of her before everything disappeared into shadow. She pushed past that to the present.

_I failed._

Did Yoda know? What would he do?

Nothing. He could do nothing for her. She was on her own.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi rubbed his forehead wearily as he slid down into the pilot's chair of the Lorian cruiser. His eyes only distantly absorbed the world outside the viewscreen, his thoughts turned inward and aft.

The past couple of weeks had been trying, to say the least. A holiday would be nice, but Obi-Wan knew such leisure was too far beyond the horizon. It was all rather surreal. When alone, he could almost convince himself it wasn't happening, the Republic going to war, but even in his usual calm solitude, he could not ignore the disturbing shiver of the Force. Obi-Wan, for all his interest in the Unifying Force, could not actually read the future, but he had a bad feeling about it.

About as bad as the present . . .

Obi-Wan watched the tall, lanky form of Anakin rounding the perimeter of the ship. Had it only been a few weeks ago they'd stood in that turbolift, Obi-Wan thinking how young his Padawan had looked in a rare moment of complete insecurity? Something had changed in Anakin since the Jedi Council had granted him the mission to Naboo. Something heavy and possibly burning. It had been there, glimpsed, in the arena at Geonosis.

Ansion, Kamino, Geonosis, Wydrillion . . . So much had happened, so little had been said. Obi-Wan wanted to know what had changed in his Padawan. Or maybe he had only progressed. Still yet, the Jedi Knight wondered if Anakin had come to terms with his broadcasted feelings for Senator Amidala. Could that be it? The shift in Anakin had come before Count Dooku, in any case.

Outside the ship, Anakin reached out with his right hand to stroke the cruiser's hull. Obi-Wan felt a grim sort of ache as his Padawan paused before contact and then slowly lowered his artificial limb. After a moment, he used his left arm to commune with the ship, like a herdsman taming a yearling.

Dooku had left his mark.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, remembering the battle all too clearly. He had the distinct humiliation of knowing the duel burned him more than Anakin, and Obi-Wan had very little to show for it. The days of suspension had been a small but telling strain on his body. The arena battle had exhausted him. Only ten years ago, the Jedi had been in a similar state of breakpoint, but he'd battled more than a Sith apprentice—and he had come away from it. Where was that leap with Dooku? Where was his reserve?

Or had it been, when staring into Dooku's black eyes, had the vision upended him?

The fallen Jedi's red blade had stung, lashing past words through him. Never at the expense of the moment. Be mindful of the living Force.

But Obi-Wan doubted even Qui-Gon Jinn would have been unaffected by what he'd seen.

Still . . .

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. He had no doubt Count Dooku's escape would come back to haunt him, but for now there were more pressing matters.

Anakin passed the bow again and lifted his hand in a small, affirmative wave to Obi-Wan. He'd be in shortly. The ship was fine. Obi-Wan began the preflight sequence, his mind still rolling over the harrowing recent events.

He had hoped this mission to Wydrillion would provide them a chance to discuss the last mission, but Obi-Wan had not even begun a greeting before things, like they always did, went awry. So many questions surrounded this, but being a Jedi meant setting personal matters aside in the face of a mission. And Wydrillion certainly required their full efforts.

"I can't say I'll miss this place," Anakin said, entering the cockpit. He raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan sitting in the pilot's chair, gave an almost reluctant smirk, and then collapsed into the other crash chair.

"You look tired," Obi-Wan murmured as the ship's engines switched from an airy whine to a low purr.

"I am."

Obi-Wan frowned. If Anakin admitted to any sort of weakness, he had to worry. The younger man leaned up on the console and massaged his face wearily. "Are you having another fever?"

"No." Anakin looked up, red finger marks distorting his pale face. "It's just . . . I'm tired."

"Rest, then." Obi-Wan flashed his Padawan a self-deprecating smile. "I think I can manage."

Anakin nodded but didn't move. He stared out the viewport for a moment and then glanced aft over his shoulder, frowning darkly. "I still think she might be Sith."

Obi-Wan refrained from sighing. "No, I don't think so." He sent his departure confirmation to Wydrillion control and fed more power to the engines. The Lorian lifted smoothly out of its port and he glimpsed other cruisers nestled between the barriers.

Anakin seemed to be waiting for him to continue, but Obi-Wan pretended to be busy with clearing the bays. The younger man fidgeted, his mechanical arm drumming on his knee. Obi-Wan couldn't help but glance at the abnormality. Anakin noticed his glance and ceased.

"Why can't she be?" he finally demanded. "We agree she's Force-sensitive."

"Yes, there is no doubt there."

"And you think she's been trained."

"Yes." Obi-Wan piloted the cruiser out of Wydrillion's innerspace.

"So, she's been trained by someone to kill Jedi."

"Not necessarily," said Obi-Wan. "Anakin, she could be a great many things. Not every Temple initiate becomes a Jedi. Most remain in the Order in some form, like the AgriCorps," he couldn't help but wince inwardly at this, "but some do leave. She could just be skills for hire.

"In any case," he shrugged, "she did not feel Sith." He frowned at Anakin. "You better rest now, Padawan. Unless you would like to explain what happened back there."

"No. No, I think I need to sleep."

"Do more than sleep," Obi-Wan reminded him as Anakin rose. "_Meditate_. It'll restore you."

Anakin muttered something and disappeared into the living cabin. Obi-Wan shook his head as he settled onto their puzzling situation. He could see Anakin stumbling for the cruiser as his attacker fled into it. The Jedi Knight had seen the trick, had known she was leading his Padawan in—but it had been too late. The hatch had closed and Obi-Wan had been left to scratch at the hull with his lightsaber and argue with the locking mechanism. When the hatch hissed open, he'd found Anakin leaning against the hull, eyes glazed and shaking body dripping with sweat. He'd stumbled back, allowing Obi-Wan entrance, and proceeded to collapse against the far bulkhead.

Blood had been everywhere, yet Anakin's wounds were sealed and clean. Obi-Wan still did not understand it. This went beyond usual self-healing techniques. His Padawan seemed a little delirious between his vague murmurings of being 'fine.' He had been in a fever. Despite the obvious lack of real need, Obi-Wan had placed bacta on the abrasions before turning to the attacker.

Obi-Wan had seen too much casualty for his taste, but he'd still felt a little sick jolt. Upon first sight, he'd thought she was dead. But she was alive, if only just, and bleeding profusely from a deep slash in her side. Yet it was not the grisly sight that disturbed Obi-Wan so much.

She was small. Frail and child-like, a shattered doll. He could tell she was young.

Using the Force, he'd managed to focus on the weak flicker of life Force in her. He'd been surprised to find her in 'emergency meditation.' The chase had revealed her to be Force-sensitive and in control of her abilities, but also limited. To be in this state, she—whoever she was—had been very well-trained.

And there was something else . . . something Obi-Wan could not place, something almost _familiar_ . . . But he had to stopper the wound. Anakin seemed unable to answer his questions, though his eyes were clearing.

Then things got tricky. They were on a mission to officially ally Wydrillion with the Republic. Any signs of weakness or trouble could easily place the trade hub in Separatist hands. The Wydrillion Council would understandably feel less secure if it discovered the Protectors of Peace were threatened in relatively friendly space. No, it was best most of the galaxy remained unaware of the increase in . . . Jedi-hunting.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan had wanted to seek medical attention for Anakin. Yet by the time he had the attacker stabilized and secured in the hold, Anakin had been looking little worse for wear. While Obi-Wan contacted the Temple, he ordered his Padawan into a healing trance. The Council, of course, had not been pleased by the news; they were also very intrigued by Anakin's condition, of which Obi-Wan could tell them little. Obi-Wan would have liked Yoda's presence, but the tiny Jedi Master had been regrettably absent. Windu and the others had agreed, if Anakin was unharmed, that the mission came first. Then they could focus on this newest anomaly in Anakin's training history.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin was not telling all he knew about what had happened in the hold, but he did believe his apprentice was honest about not quite understanding it himself. Perhaps it was just another explosion of power he was prone to, another example of his incredible potential, another sign he may be The Chosen One.

This could also explain Anakin's reluctance to talk about it.

Still . . . there was something about it . . .

But there had been no time to push, no time to coax it out of Anakin. Wydrillion came first, and its representatives proved ambitious as well as cautious in their treaty with the Republic. Between negotiations and assurances, Obi-Wan saw to their new prisoner and Anakin's health. The fever disappeared after a day, though he looked pale for another two. Obi-Wan had made a little errand to a discreet chemist on Wydr II to analyze the toxin in the dart Anakin caught. The results: troubling.

But not as much as the aftereffects of this assassination attempt. Anakin seemed to take Obi-Wan's administrations on the attacker as an insult. Why save her? Why not let her die? Or turn her over to the authorities? They would do little to aid an assassin's recovery. Obi-Wan understood where Anakin was coming from, even if it was not, exactly, a Jedi mindset. The boy—young man—had a tendency to take things too personally as a result of living nine years on Tatooine before coming to the Temple. By now, Obi-Wan had more or less surrendered to this slight in Anakin's training. Some things were just too engrained in a person to change.

Still, Obi-Wan would not allow it. They would not aid death. They would gain more knowledge from their attacker alive than dead, and this was the reasoning that eased Anakin's sense of injustice the best.

Obi-Wan kept their captive under trance during the negotiations. Her condition went beyond the vibro-wound and he sensed it had something to do with whatever had happened to Anakin. The flesh wound healed a little slowly, owing to her weakness. He kept her unconscious as long as he dared before, earlier, prodding her to emerge out of meditation.

The Wydrillion mission was over.

Now another began.

Once the Lorian was out of Wydrillion space, Obi-Wan left the cockpit. He sensed Anakin's dormant state as he passed the small living cabin. Good.

The Jedi paused just outside the cargo door.

He could sense her just beyond. Again, he had the nagging feeling of familiarity, yet he also knew he could not forget her. The sense of her was tight, so tight he really only sensed her presence as that of a living being. Like she was hiding.

Standing here puzzling it would get him nowhere. Obi-Wan opened the hatch door and entered.

She was awake, as he knew she would be. Those large, dark eyes regarded him coldly, hauntingly familiar though he could not place them. Obi-Wan couldn't help but be struck by her. She was beautiful, to be sure, but Obi-Wan Kenobi had learned long ago that beautiful women tended to be the most dangerous. No, it was something else. Shackled to the support pole, she had every appearance of being broken. Dark shadows around her eyes accentuated her pale, drained complexion. Tangled, almost black hair fell haphazardly out of her braid. Her full lips were colorless in contrast with the black stains on her torn tunic. Clad in ragged gray and as pale as she was, she could have been some ghost of lore.

Except for her eyes. They burned coldly. Stone. She was not a specter but stone.

He remembered, when he'd dressed her wound, how she had seemed so young and fragile. Yet the woman unmoving on the floor had thrown him over a railing and very nearly killed his Padawan. He could see it easily now, yet there were traces of displaced youth, of that doll-like delicacy.

"Are you in want of company enough yet?" he asked finally.

Her silence was expected.

Obi-Wan knew he could break her. He was stronger. The problem, however, rested in her strong shields. Against strong resistance, he risked the possibility of destroying more than a mental barrier. Yes, he could break her, but in doing so, the damage could be irrevocable. He would learn nothing from a mad captive, and wielding such power was treading on precarious ground.

The trick was to get her to cooperate of her own will.

She was not stone, however much she projected it. He'd seen the utter embarrassment flicker across her face when he'd reached for her bandaging. A flush had graced her cheeks then, her stare had fallen away.

A modest killer. Such was the galaxy . . .

"I see you're as talkative as before," Obi-Wan said mildly. "By all means, keep your silence. It will do you no good." He shed his robe and draped it on a net hook in the hold's makeshift berth. For a moment he pondered the cruiser they'd commandeered. Anakin knew his vessels. This particular Lorian was once quietly commissioned for Republic operatives, but this model had been known to be scrapped or resold if not "obtained" by some of the galaxy's less upright citizens. Entering its register in the Republic database only got them to may or may not: this cruiser, at one time, may or may not have been part of the Republic specialist fleet. Even Jedi ships flew under 'may or may not' when not officiated for a specific mission.

Likewise, her attire left little for clues. Obi-Wan was rather impressed by the amount of weaponry he'd found within her clothing. The dart gun he'd found in the hangar and the cartridges themselves were of such a high but standard make that he doubted he could properly trace it. Their only clue was a disquieting one. The small, light belt on around her slender waist had the unmistakable Jedi craftsmanship Obi-Wan had come to appreciate more and more on his misadventures. The comlink he'd found also held traces of Not'ril'ta, one of the Temple's best technicians.

These findings pointed to the hired assassins targeting Padawans.

It did not sit well with Obi-Wan to think of a possible Temple initiate murdering young Jedi for money. He recalled his own struggles with rejection, but he could not imagine ever turning _against_ the Order. Nor could he sense feelings of revenge or hate.

Then what did this all mean?

Obi-Wan wanted to find out.

"You have two options," he said, folding his arms. "The first one: you remain silent and go to prison for attempted murder. Or you answer our questions. Bounty hunting is not illegal in the Republic, yet I cannot imagine a legal bounty being placed on Anakin Skywalker."

A rigid tension lined her elegant jawline.

"So," Obi-Wan continued, studying her carefully with his eyes and the Force, "this leaves me wondering: is this a personal strike, or are you one of the bounty hunters targeting young Jedi?"

Her lips tightened as if he'd offended her.

"I know my Padawan has a tendency to . . . grate the nerves," Obi-Wan said carefully, "but I doubt he could offend enough to deserve such a vendetta."

Only that steady, unblinking stare.

"If you are a bounty hunter, I'll have you know I've wearied of them of late, so it would be best if you cooperate." Some bounty hunters held loyalty codes, making them prized hires; others would instantly drop a hire if it meant escaping a dodgy entanglement or gaining more profitable employment elsewhere. Obi-Wan wondered if this one was fiercely loyal or, perhaps, there was something more.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he wondered aloud.

She blinked and her lips parted slightly. Obi-Wan smiled inwardly. Adopting a gentler tone, he followed this line and knelt down.

"Was this an act of desperation? Do you need help? If you help us, maybe we can help you."

She stared at him, unreadable, and then adopted a faintly exasperated look as she turned away.

Damn.

So close, Obi-Wan again felt the nagging prickling. What was the Force telling him? She eluded him. And he couldn't deny, however much he wanted to, that something about her was pulling him . . . Was this what Qui-Gon felt when he latched onto one of his 'life causes'? Or was there something else entirely, something neither of them knew yet but would become a part of? Was it the Unifying Force at work?

He stretched out again with the Force. Taut, rigid. Cool, smooth stone.

She shifted and met his gaze again. He noticed her swallow, noticed how she held her once dislocated shoulder. Perhaps he should have eased the pain instead of letting it swell, but Obi-Wan had not seen the need for such benevolence at the time. The stiff, aching limb was obviously uncomfortable, though she seemed determined to hide it. Obi-Wan wavered between fixing it now and leaving it. When she was more compliant, maybe . . .

"If you will not speak . . ." He stood and picked up his robe as he turned for the hatch door.

"Fresher."

Obi-Wan paused.

She was giving him a desperate, humiliated sort of look.

Obi-Wan hid his smirk well. He bent down to free her, saying, "We are currently in hyperspace and you're outnumbered."

She did not respond, but Obi-Wan wasn't about to be foolish in this. He kept a firm hold on her small wrists as he freed one from the manacles and pulled her arms in front of her. The movement had to hurt her wrenched shoulder, but she only flinched slightly, her jaw set determinedly. Obi-Wan secured the manacles again, marveling at her slender wrists. She really was quite small, yet she had strength, he'd seen it.

But at the moment, she was trembling very slightly. With a grunt, she tried to push up against the pole, but wavered.

Obi-Wan slid his hand up her arm, gripping her by the elbow. She jerked away from him and hit her side against the bulkhead.

"Steady, steady," he said quietly. "You're weak."

Obi-Wan reached for her arm again, but she jerked again and shot him a daggered look. He held up his hands, trying not to let his amusement show. She gave a little huff, bit her bottom lip, and gathered herself. As she eased herself upright, Obi-Wan was suddenly struck.

Now he remembered.

"You," said Obi-Wan. "I remember you."

She froze.

"The spaceport—years ago. You were sick."

She swayed a little. Was that relief or were his eyes playing tricks with him? But he saw her clearly then, delirious and stumbling away. Even then he had thought there was something . . . but then she'd been lost in the crowd and he'd let her slip just as easily from his mind as he'd returned his attention to chiding Anakin. Was there a reason behind the encounter? _There's always a reason_. What could it be?

She looked ready to collapse.

Obi-Wan firmly but gently grasped her elbow again. She thanked him with a glare but did not pull away. Grudgingly she allowed him to steady her as they started for the refresher. Obi-Wan couldn't help but smirk inwardly at her obstinate refusal to lean on him. He could feel her trembling under his hand, could see the strain of the short walk on her weakened body. Muscle atrophy and whatever the hell Anakin's power burst had done.

Some very powerful Jedi Masters could channel life energy from another being. Those who could rarely did, except for in healing circumstances, and with the healer releasing his or her own life Force into the injured being. Had Anakin inadvertently drawn upon this woman's life Force? It seemed impossible, even though Jedi drew on the Force, which was an embodiment of all things; then again, nothing was impossible when it came to the Force.

Obi-Wan dropped his hand when they reached the refresher. She went in without a backward glance, chin held high as if she were entering a palace rather than a chamber of necessity. The door slid shut and Obi-Wan leaned against the corridor wall to wait.

* * *

Obi-Wan needed some serious distraction, and he doubted this makeshift sandwich was up to the task. That was 'sandwich' in the loosest term. Not that he had much of an appetite, anyway. The twenty-three year old Padawan sighed as he lifted the Naboo sandwich, thinking, at the very least, someone could have left him the last sweet biscuit.

His first bite proved the sandwich was _not_ going to suffice. Still, he dutifully swallowed and tried to ponder all the other sandwiches he'd consumed across the galaxy. It was certainly better than thinking of—

Obi-Wan looked up toward the lift door just before it whispered open. He expected, in that brief instance, to see the Queen step out, but it was only one of her orange-hooded handmaidens. Why had he expected the Queen? She had not been seen out of her private chambers since Coruscant, nor did it seem likely she'd come down to the lower common on her own for a sandwich.

Still, he'd felt sure . . .

The handmaiden seemed to hesitate slightly before she stepped out of the lift, her head bowed under her low cowl. Obi-Wan glanced down at his sandwich, feeling more than a little irritated to be interrupted. The Queen wasn't the only one being reclusive on this curious return to Naboo—

The Padawan watched the slight form head for the small food unit. She was not Rabé or Eirtaé, who were only seen when fetching something for the Queen.

Ah, his distraction had arrived.

Obi-Wan, his curiosity piqued, stretched out subtly with the Force, his sandwich only a mechanism of apparent disinterest. He dared not prod far, he just needed a little confirmation. This was not Padmé, the third and not silent handmaiden.

The Queen, masquerading as one of her handmaidens, moved with seemingly calm grace, but Obi-Wan spotted the edge of tension in her slender lines. She was smaller out of her heavy gown, smaller than he'd expected. If he didn't know better, he'd think her just a young girl popping down to the kitchen to nip a late night snack.

Which, he reasoned, she actually was. Sometimes it was easy to forget Queen Amidala was only fourteen.

Amidala seemed determined to show him only her back or profile as she quietly set about making tea. She worked delicately, making as little noise as possible. Then she returned to rummaging through the cupboards, her gloss-painted fingertips finding the sweet biscuit container. She pulled it out and opened it, giving Obi-Wan a glimpse of her shadowed face as she peered in.

"Damn," she swore softly.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. He'd said just as much a few minutes ago, but it sounded better from her. In that brief moment, he saw a rather sweet, young face twist with consternation at being deprived of sweets.

Then she looked at him sharply, accusingly.

Yes, he had no doubt she was the Queen.

Obi-Wan shrugged unhelpfully. He wanted to call her on the disguise, but it seemed somehow impolite. Nor was he in the mood for a royal chat.

She still looked a little suspicious as she turned back to the cupboards. Obi-Wan watched out of the corner of his eye as she settled for soft, thick crackers and jam. He'd never seen a queen prepare her own snack, but she worked efficiently, taking precise care not to spread crumbs or spill the jam. The Jedi Padawan smiled inwardly at her queenly manner for such an ordinary task.

She poured her tea and Obi-Wan again glimpsed the left side of her face as she canted her head a little. Although her eyes were shadowed from her low cowl, he could see her bottom lip tucked in a little with concentration. He had little doubt she was being extra careful in his presence, in disguise or not.

When the Queen finished preparing her snack, she paused, her orange sliver form turned slightly toward him. Indecision? Had she intended to sit alone in the lower common and he'd ruined her singular outing?

Obi-Wan took another bite of his sandwich, debating whether to offer her a seat. As much as he'd come here for distraction, he wasn't sure if he wanted to make a small chat with a Queen-in-disguise. Maybe she would say nothing. Maybe she would. It was bound to be awkward, whichever way it went. Though, he amended, if he was in the mood for underlying banter, he would have relished this.

The 'handmaiden' picked up her tea and cracker plate, gave him a shadowed nod, and headed for the lift. The door whispered shut behind her.

Obi-Wan set his half-eaten sandwich down and frowned, unable to shrug off a curious disappointment.

* * *

Inside the tiny refresher, Sabé cupped her hands and drank thirstily as water spilled over them. She knew it wasn't drinking water, but it was clean enough and she didn't care at the moment. Then she splashed the water over her face, scrubbing furiously, pressing her fingers into her eyelids and seeing red spots in the momentary darkness. She drank again and then, finally, turned the water off, letting her face drip into the sink.

She stayed like that for several minutes, breathing slowly, eyes closed, as she tried to find her center. The Force moved unsteadily around her, a frayed, thin shawl around her shoulders. She pulled it in with her breathing. The shadow game must be kept. Whatever happened, she must keep Yoda's order secret.

When she felt marginally steadier, Sabé lifted her head and felt a sick little jolt of horror at her reflection. She looked like death. Gingerly, she touched her hollow cheeks, her eyes large and darkly luminous in their sunken shadows. Her hands were shaking. Sabé bit her lip and gripped the sink. But she continued to stare at the specter in the mirror. A white skeleton lost in a black tangle.

She did not recognize herself.

Sabé scowled. _How dull_, she thought over the sick, empty feeling threatening to rise from her stomach and tear her eyes.

She stepped back from the mirror and turned to the narrow shower stall. Upon entering, she'd locked the door and checked the tiny cupboard for her hygiene kit. Everything was in place, though she had little doubt the Jedi had searched every inch of the ship. She'd noticed while locked in the hold they'd removed anything loose or helpful for escape. Damn Kenobi for realizing the hold made such a good prison cell. At least he had not jettisoned her soap.

Wincing as her stiff shoulder protested, Sabé removed her clothes and stepped into the shower. She examined the scarring curving along her side, uncomfortably self-conscious of Obi-Wan's medical cleaning of the wound area. She could sense him just outside the door, a faint, hovering presence buzzing in a corner of her mind. Guarding.

Sabé glanced at the locked door. She had no worry of the Jedi intruding. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a gentleman.

Still, as she tentatively traced the long, pink scar, she wished he'd left her to bleed.

Frowning grimly at that notion, she turned on the water and gasped as warm water hit her weakened body. Sabé closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, letting the cleansing warmth wash over her. She let the Force sink in. She needed to get her strength back, needed to reinforce her shields. Needed to prepare for whatever was to come. It might take awhile, but Obi-Wan could wait.

As the hiss of running water soaked her ears and the steam filled her lungs, Sabé slipped into a healing trance, her mind floating . . .

_The bounty hunter grinned, feral, flashing her jagged teeth. Sabé paced, fighting the frustration rising in her. Turning back, she leaned over the red-tattooed contract killer, fitting the witch with her best glare._

"_Tell me who's contracting for Padawans," Sabé snapped. _Before I jettison you_, she thought._

_The bounty hunter laughed, her forked tongue flashing between her teeth, her black eyes glittering with amusement. Sabé pushed her fist under the bony chin, bringing her face within an inch of the snakelike female's. _

"_You will tell me. Or I'll hand you over to the Jedi."_

_The hunter's tongue lashed out, licking Sabé's face. Sabé whipped her head away in disgust, but did not relent. She slipped her small blaster out of its holster, holding it loosely at her side._

_The red female grinned coldly. "You capture me and say you speak on behalf of the Jedi," she hissed, "but you threaten death."_

_Sabé shrugged. "I am not a Jedi." She twitched her blaster hand subtly. _

_The Slissian's glittering eyes flickered again. She snarled fiercely up at Sabé. "If I tell you all I know, it is amnesty, then?"_

"_Depends on what you tell me."_

_The bounty hunter growled, tugged against her shackling, and then hissed a sigh. "Fine."_

_Sabé waited. Her heart pounded. Would she finally discover the needed information, or would she come to another dead end? Did this Slissian not possess the fear of the contractor as the other bounty hunters did, or would she only find a ghost representative like before?_

"_A blanket contract is out for any Jedi apprentices," the Slissian slithered out. Sabé noted the inward twitch of the tiny, narrow, sloping shoulder bones under the red tattoos. "Nice price. Better than some of the senators' heads."_

"_Get to the point," Sabé ground out._

_The Slissian shrugged, her shoulders folding in more as her black eyes never left Sabé. "I didn't believe the contract at first. The Trade Federation is too deep in war to pay up, but word got round that the contractor makes good on the bounty."_

"_Who is it?" Sabé noted the folding of the shoulders had ceased, but she sensed the tension like a spring._

_The bounty hunter smiled coldly. "I could not really say—"_

_She coiled, springing inward as her shoulders folded and rotating, her sinewy legs kicking out at Sabé. But Sabé was not off-guard and easily jumped over the kick, her right leg connecting with the Slissian's face. The bounty hunter howled angrily as Sabé landed and leveled her blaster. But she was not done as she folded further, whipping her snakelike body around, twisting lighting fast. Sabé's vibro-dagger was out in an instant and under the pointed chin, pricking._

"_That's enough of that," Sabé growled._

_The Slissian spat. "Look at you. You're no more than a girl. Playing a game. I can snap you like a twig."_

_Sabé pressed a little more. The Slissian hissed. "You say this, yet you are the one chained to a post."_

"_Not for long."_

"_Try it and you're dead."_

_The Slissian female smiled cruelly. "Have you ever killed anyone, little girl?"_

_Sabé gritted her teeth._

"_It is delightfully easy," the bounty hunter whispered. "It's just an instant. No matter how you do it. The foreplay can be long and drawn out, or you can just blast them. It does not matter. The actual killing, the final stroke—just an instant."_

_Sabé could smell the Slissian's black blood sizzle on her blade, it's acrid, metallic scent burning her nose. "Tell me who the contractor is."_

"_You'll be just as easy as the little Jedi."_

_The Slissian let out an earsplitting cry and turned her body into a whip. Sabé barely had time to fold her body into a roll as the flexible Slissian broke free, her arms slithering out of her shackles. She sprang up, turning, as the bounty hunter uncoiled to leap. Three shots rang directly into the Slissian's heart. The glitter flickered out of her black eyes and she fell in mid-leap, collapsing to the floor._

_Sabé slowly lowered her blaster and stared._

_She stood dumbly for a long moment. _

_The bounty hunter was right. It was just an instant._

_Sabé turned the body over. A burned circle smoldered over the cooked heart. Her shaking hand reached for the thin braids pinned to the belt. An instant. Seven instances clutched in her fist. Seven._

_Sabé stood and backed away. Then she turned and vomited violently._

Lost in the shower, her tears fell unabated.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi's patience was starting to lean toward irritated when the refresher door opened. He'd heard the shower cease awhile ago and had wondered if his prisoner had been standing in there to be ornery.

The Jedi Knight straightened and couldn't help but raise his eyebrows as she stepped out of the fresher. She stared up at him, daring him defiantly as she held herself straight. Some color had made it to her full lips, though she still remained rather pale and drawn. Her long, dark hair had been gathered back into a simple, clean braid she draped over her left shoulder, again piquing Obi-Wan's curiosity. Most active beings such as her kept their hair short for efficiency.

She still wore her torn, bloodstained gray tunic, but it barely dampened the effect. The beauty Obi-Wan had seen under all the blood and exhausted was apparent now. She cleaned up well.

And was apparently recovering her strength. He'd sensed her touching the Force and again had found it to not move darkly around her. This was no Sith, though she had a commendable glare for one.

"Allow me to escort you to your suite," said Obi-Wan.

Her expression was nothing less than withering. The Jedi was again struck by haunting familiarity as a cool mask slipped over her annoyance. She passed him, walking ahead, her movements sure and graceful. The recovery trance. Well-trained, this one.

She stood expressionlessly as he pulled her arms around the post and secured the manacles. Her head only came to his shoulder, but she carried it as if a crown belonged there. Obi-Wan glanced at her profile as he double-checked the shackles, thinking, really, she did not look so young. Younger than his thirty-three years but older than Anakin's twenty. When he stepped back, a faint curiosity played at her brow.

"You must be hungry," he said.

She did not answer but he recognized the starved want in her brown eyes.

He stepped out and returned a short while later with a water flask and sustenance bar. A hungry grimness settled along the corners of her mouth as he set the items down and went to the manacles again.

"The cuisine is lamentable, but so is your situation." He paused, watching her face. "No antics, yes?"

She turned her face to him, and again, Obi-Wan felt he should know her. Why did he expect to see something sweet in those eyes?

She acquiesced with a curt nod. Obi-Wan mentally shook his head at himself and brought her arms around to the front and slipped the left cuff over her wrist again. Her lips were parted slightly and her eyes lowered away from him. The Jedi found it oddly disarming.

Obi-Wan gestured to the flask and bar. "Please."

She grasped the "meal" and settled down on the floor, her back against the bulkhead across from her usual post. Obi-Wan leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms casually to wait, watching as she adapted to limited use of her hands as she unwrapped the food bar. She looked up pointedly.

"Oh, don't mind me."

Looking a touch irritated, she proceeded to ignore him as she took her first bite. She was a courtly eater, almost dainty. Obi-Wan knew this mannerism well; he'd seen it throughout the galaxy in the higher classes. It suited her, unlike the bounty hunter profile. The Jedi scratched absently at his beard, pondering.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The Jedi Padawan supposed he'd seen worse situations than this. An adolescent queen leading a ragtag, motley group of Naboo soldiers and affronted Gungans into a metallic gundark nest with several thousand times the firepower? No, it could be worse. Much worse.

It could be raining.

Obi-Wan Kenobi glanced up at the brilliant, perfectly blue sky glittering through the sweetly swaying branches of the aged swamp trees. At least this beautiful planet had the decency to give them a proper good-bye. No one liked marching into carnage soggy.

He smiled to himself, ducking his head to hide it as Captain Tarpals, a Gungan more sensible than his counterpart, gave him a quizzical look. Obi-Wan surveyed the ambling order skirting the edge of this swampy forest. Captain Panaka and Boss Noss were talking quietly by the debriefing speeder, Binks fidgeting nervously and pointlessly behind them. Qui-Gon . . . well, Qui-Gon was off having a chat with the boy. Obi-Wan, as a mark of their amending, had been invited along, but the Padawan could not quite bring himself to join. His hard feelings weren't directed at the boy, exactly, but Obi-Wan sensed curt politeness would do more harm than good. Best to just stay out of it.

He trailed his eyes away from them, perhaps quicker than he'd like to admit. An invisible wall from centuries of prejudice loosely divided the humans and Gungans, but curiosity and soon-to-slaughter camaraderie had started dissolving the barrier. Some younger Gungans donning battle gear were discussing, Obi-Wan could grasp, differences in their weapons with the Naboo soldiers.

The young Jedi looked on, following the young queen's movement to a smaller cluster beneath the trees. Obi-Wan smirked. Amidala halted before the little group standing to the side of everything, a seemingly aloof, untouchable satellite. The two Naboo guards started to bow to their incognito queen, but stopped when they saw Rabé and Eirtaé remained upright. To Obi-Wan, the charade seemed a bit pointless now: If spies or snipers were creeping around, they would not have been fooled by a "handmaiden" ordering the battle plans instead of the Queen.

Obi-Wan watched as Amidala and the decoy Queen stepped away from the little group. He studied the white painted face (as he'd been doing a lot lately), bowed slightly to Amidala. If she allowed any expression, it was only tight seriousness. Intent. Unwavering. Obi-Wan found himself moving a little closer and attuning his senses to their low voices.

_Unmindful of the Living Force, master?_ Jedi were not supposed to be smug, but Obi-Wan could not deny his satisfaction in spotting the switching roles when Qui-Gon blissfully missed it. Of course, Obi-Wan had been slightly off the mark at first. Why would the Queen have her handmaiden deliver the initial plan to them on approach to Naboo? But then they had switched again before trudging off to the Gungans, and Obi-Wan had it. Maybe he should have let Qui-Gon in on the ruse, but they had not been on speaking terms before then, and afterwards, well, Obi-Wan rather liked his little secret knowledge.

Now, of course, everyone knew.

" . . . sure you want to do this?" Amidala was saying quietly, her voice low but unaffected. "This is real danger, Sabé."

A brief, tight smile flashed across the decoy's white face. "I will do my duty, Ami. I always wanted to be a big, flashing, walking target. You have the difficult task. I just have to draw to look like a queen and draw the fire. Simple."

Obi-Wan's ears absorbed the new sound of the decoy's voice. _These_were Sabé's words, not Queen Amidala's. Soft but strong, rhythmic and cultured.

"You make it sound so—" The young queen gave a little shudder and grasped Sabé's hand in hers.

"Just a little levity, Your Highness."

"I do not find any of this funny," Amidala muttered darkly.

"Jar Jar Binks is a general."

"That is _not_ funny!" Amidala sighed, paused a moment, and then, solemnly: "My life."

Sabé raised her chin slightly, dark intensity filling her brown eyes. "_My_life."

Handmaiden and Queen stared at one another for a long, drawn moment, and Obi-Wan could almost see the cords connecting them through the Force. They were bound, life duty bonding them beyond friendship. Sacrifice. One did not need to be attuned to the Living Force to see it, feel it. Obi-Wan was struck.

Then Amidala broke away to speak to Eirtaé and Rabé. Obi-Wan watched as Sabé stood alone, still and frozen like a statue or a hunted animal. What thoughts were running through her mind? So young and going into battle as the number one target of her enemies. Sacrificing her life for another's.

Obi-Wan approached her quietly, wondering if he should speak with her or not. He would not console her, not really. The reality of the situation was as it is.

Her eyes shifted to him. Guarded.

"Jedi Kenobi," she said in her deep Queen's voice.

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Your Highness—or should I say . . . Sabé?"

Something flickered in her dark eyes as he tested her name. She seemed undecided, somehow, and then, after a moment, she said in a more natural voice, "I am sorry for the deception, Jedi Kenobi."

"No worries. And it's Obi-Wan." When she only watched him, still closed, he pushed a little. "You and the Queen played an excellent ruse, but I figured it out."

"Did you?" she said sharply. Her gaze darted toward the Queen, and Obi-Wan could almost hear Sabé say, _I_told_ her not to switch on the ship!_

"Yes," he said, trying not to grin. "On the ship. You were down in the common as a handmaiden, but it was the Queen in the throne room with you on her left that gave it away."

A frown tugged on her painted lips. "I failed Her Highness. I should have been a better decoy."

"The fault does not lie in your acting," Obi-Wan reassured her. He wondered how much he should say, how far he should go to satisfy his curiosity. "The white face helps, but there are still subtle differences in your features, as well as in your voices. And I—well," he paused, uncertain quite where he was treading, "I can sense you differently through the Force than the Queen."

She glanced away for just a moment, a flutter in her stoic mask. "Oh?"

Oh? indeed. Obi-Wan sensed quite bit behind that innocent syllable. Should he press about her Force-sensitivity? Or should he let it be, let _her_ be, and order his curiosity to shove off? He could not deny there were more pressing matters on hand.

"I suppose 'how are you feeling' has too obvious an answer," he said quietly.

A rueful smile twitched across her red and white lips before settling grimly in place. "Yes." She shifted her shoulders a little further back. A stubbornness hardened along her jaw, regal and queenly beneath her sunburst crown. Obi-Wan again wondered her age. The other two handmaidens were certainly a little older than the Queen, the passive maturity in their manner blending rather than startling, as in the Queen.

She looked up at him, determined and rather fierce. "I am not afraid to serve." Then she softened and smiled wryly. "You understand, don't you, Obi-Wan?"

Her natural voice, soft and young here. Something stirred in Obi-Wan when she said his name, a protective instinct as she tentatively dropped some of her mask. He wanted to protect her in this upcoming battle, but he had already been given his duty to protect the Queen.

"Yes, I do," he said quietly.

* * *

Duty.

The word hung in the cold, recycled air. Sabé stared at the blank bulkhead, absently wondering if she would begin to despise the word. She had lost track of all time, all sense of passing measurement, as she sat with her back against the pole, her shoulder stiff, her hands manacled behind her. On and off she meditated, gaining strength every time, but finding only a bleary fog in the Force. She could not risk stretching far, opening herself—not with the Jedi around, but what she did sense disturbed rather than consoled.

Things had not gone well, nor were they going well, and she doubted they would improve. Obi-Wan would either figure her out or lose his patience, or Skywalker would do something drastic and impulsive.

She'd already resigned herself to her fate. No help would be coming for her. What could Master Yoda do? It was up to her. Keep Yoda a secret, keep her orders secret.

Duty.

Though it should have never come to this.

Sabé gritted her teeth. If she died without Obi-Wan or anyone else discovering who she was, she would be as satisfied as one could be after failing. One last shred of dignity, a small cling to the past.

But one should not dwell on the past, on things that cannot be changed.

_And round and round it goes_, she thought.

The hatch opened and Obi-Wan stepped through again, Skywalker in tow. Sabé straightened up as best she could, checking her mind shields. Was Obi-Wan weary of bantering to himself? Did he truly believe she was killing Padawans, and therefore, Jedi morals could be tossed aside for Skywalker's hinted persuasion?

"This is getting ridiculous, don't you think?" said Obi-Wan.

_Boring, more like_, Sabé thought. If she were unchained, she could pass the time with stretches.

"I'm telling you," Skywalker said heatedly, "let's just hand her over to Republic authorities."

"You'll be charged with attempted murder and hunting without a legal bounty," Obi-Wan said. "Not to mention all this on a Jedi. The Republic does not take this offense lightly." As before, he knelt down before her, a soft sort of appeal edging his hard gaze. "Will you not speak on your behalf? Will you not reason? We are only looking for answers."

Sabé dug her thumbnail into her left palm. Obi-Wan was so close, staring, searching, an open door between them. It hurt how much he didn't know. About her, about his Padawan, his beloved Order. She felt relief and offense he did not recognize her, that he only saw a paid killer in her. He could not know. For her own good. For his.

She stared back, concentrating on the sharp, tiny pain in her palm. Yet his eyes were at once so blue and so grey and those days so long ago flooded back, dulling the pain in her hand and sharpening it elsewhere. They were not friends. Not now.

Obi-Wan sighed. "You are only hurting yourself by this."

That was the point.

The Jedi Knight rubbed his light, reddish beard for a moment, as if testing a decision. Then he raised both hands to either side of her face, palms slightly cupped just inches from her head. Sabé glared at him. He'd done this before.

"You leave me with very little choice," he said softly, already sinking into the Force.

Sabé braced herself, pulling everything in as Master Yoda taught her. The shadow game inside her. Perhaps it was what kept Obi-Wan from recognizing her. Keep him from breaking her shields. Slide over, slide past.

She felt him pressing in, prodding. So familiar and strangely gentle for an intruder. Bumping, brushing, soft and warm . . . back in the ship's throne room . . . Different than the reactor core, when she had been open and giving without knowing . . . The memory of it, the pull . . . she almost . . . not, she would not. He was tempting, soothing, not pushing. Asking to be let in, inviting her out, inviting her _in_ . . . No, she would not. Stone, stone, solid, opaque. Then—palms, pressing in, pressing on her. Firm, intent. Pressure aching. She wasn't bowing, no. _No._

Then he eased back and she opened her eyes. She was biting her lip and breathing a little strongly.

"What? What is it?" Skywalker said, his voice thundercracking against her temples. "Why did you stop?"

Obi-Wan did not answer immediately, his gaze searching her as she relaxed her jaw and fixed him with a glare. He knew he hurt her.

"Her shields are too strong," he said quietly. "If I pushed anymore, I could break her."

"Isn't that the _point_?" Skywalker came forward, bowing over his master's shoulder. "Don't we want to break her so she'll speak?"

"Her shields, not her mind," Obi-Wan said tiredly.

"Her mind? Who cares about her mind, Master? She's a murderer!"

Sabé snorted despite herself.

The Jedi shot her sharp looks. Sabé raised an eyebrow at Skywalker, and she saw a flicker of fear in his shallow blue eyes. _A murderer, am I? What about you?_ She leveled him, allowed a cold smile to creep up one cheek. Let him see she knew. Set him back.

Skywalker's nose flared as he straightened up a little, backing from her. Agitated. "Master—"

"Not here, Anakin," Obi-Wan said firmly, standing.

Sabé glanced at him. Curiosity and suspicion. Intrigue. Had she revealed something?

"Fine," Anakin snapped. He disappeared through the hatch. Obi-Wan lingered, studying her, and then slowly followed his Padawan.

* * *

"Anakin, I don't want to have this discussion again," Obi-Wan said as he entered the cockpit where Anakin was pacing in the small confines. Behind him lay pinprick stars far from this empty pocket of space. It was a short jump to the closest planet, leaving them very isolated but not unreachable.

"Looks like we're having it," Anakin muttered darkly.

Obi-Wan counted to five. He could not blame Anakin for being upset and irritated. The young man was not naturally patient, and the circumstances were unfavorable for him, to say the least. An assassin had severely injured him and now they were wasting time.

"I still think Dooku could have trained her," Anakin said before Obi-Wan could reach five. "Fine—I'll give you she's probably not Sith. But Dooku could have trained her, sent her after us."

"Us?"

Anakin shrugged. "Okay, maybe just me."

"She clearly targeted you. I was completely open." Obi-Wan rubbed his chin, frowning. "It is a possibility, Anakin, that Dooku trained her. Why he would only target you, I do not know. But if she _is_ an apprentice of his, then we definitely should not break her mind. If we could persuade her, she could be an asset."

Anakin shook his head. "I can see your reasoning, Master. I just don't understand it."

Obi-Wan frowned.

"I mean—_why_ haven't you just handed her over?"

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had not properly slept since the attempt on Anakin's life. Just brief rejuvenating meditations. Someone needed to be on guard, and Obi-Wan could not shake his distrust in Anakin's impulsiveness.

The Jedi Knight stepped up to the viewscreen, staring out at the distant stars. He might as well speak a little honestly here; Anakin would allow nothing else. "There's . . . I dislike to say it . . . something about her. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something . . ."

Anakin stood beside him. "You mean aside from the fact she looks eerily like Padmé?" he joked.

It hit Obi-Wan. Hard.

He stopped breathing. Visions from ten years ago hailed down, pummeling as the past few days raced through him, all the while shouting _of course! of course! of course!_ while he felt a black, sinking feeling from his chest to his gut, disbelief battling with grim certainty as the cracked piece to the puzzle slipped in, however uncomfortably.

"Master? What is it?"

Obi-Wan shook himself. "Wait here, Anakin," he said firmly, turning aft.

"What—Obi-Wan?"

"_Wait here_."

It couldn't be. It just couldn't. But it was, he could feel it. He wanted to be mistaken. Yet the veil dissolved, the pull explained. Certainty sickened him.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and entered the cargo hold. He saw her instantly but with new eyes, with new dread. She sat just as he'd left her moments before, but she looked clearer, obvious, but he did not want to believe it. She watched him, large, dark brown eyes regarding him stonily—but was that a hint of fear there? How could he have not seen her so clearly before? Yes, she looked older, soft innocence of youth almost gone, but it was her. Obi-Wan was certain of it.

He wanted to be wrong.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, but then they dropped to his sides.

"Sabé."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

As far as ballroom parties went, this was one of the finest. It was not an extravagant social occasion for the privileged high class of the core worlds strutting and pluming for one another. This was a genuine celebration for the newly liberated, a rejoicing for life after mourning those lost in the battle and siege. All over Naboo these balls were lighting somber spirits, lifting heavy feet, spilling laughter into the streets. It was needed, it was splendid.

He just didn't want to be here.

Obi-Wan pretended to look intrigued by the refreshment table he was trying to inconspicuously hide behind. It was shadowy here under the arching, tree-like plants framing the gilded punch bowl and surprisingly varied snacks. His only company at present was a confectionary droid, who, since Obi-Wan had not even touched a proffered food item, had little interest in him. This was fine. This was good. He could answer simple questions like, "Would you care for a snopit cracker, sir?" Or, even better, no questions at all.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was tired of questions.

The newly Knighted Jedi's gaze swept the cavernous ballroom, in a single movement deciphering the myriad grandeur of celebration gowns, the orchestra, the clustering of Gungans, the royal and public guests. At once he saw the slight, dusty-hair form of Anakin Skywalker, experiencing a strange pang of terror, guilt, and anxiety—and incredible disbelief. Padawan? But there was the braid, his and Qui-Gon's bond woven into Anakin, now a part of something eternal and perpetuating—he should think of that, not of loss—but the dark, ripping void felt more real, just like the icy, burning tightness in his chest. Obi-Wan looked on from Anakin, whom he'd gladly granted the freedom to interact with the Naboo and Gungan youngsters. The Jedi Council, hovering, observing, passively standing among the marble pillars and relieved laughter and buzzing chatter. Surely Obi-Wan should be with them, minding their words, listening closely to their wisdom, further indulging their questions, their curiosity—

He could not.

Duty enough, he had done. He'd been interrogated, judged, deemed—enough. For tonight. He could not escape them tomorrow.

_I just want tonight_.

A pale, silky whisper slipping through the milling mass of gowns and cloaks, a subtle, continuing movement of Obi-Wan's sweeping gaze. Sabé, the handmaiden, unshrouded as she gracefully wove in and out of small, undulating spaces, effortlessly avoiding brushing or stirring anyone she passed, yet so unaware of following eyes. Queen Amidala, resplendent in another white gown, circulated graciously through the noble and common flooding the elegant, soaring chamber. Two handmaidens, cloaked in remarkably subtle but joyous gold, silently shadowed her, twin specters in this sea of gaiety. The Governor, Sio Bibble, clung to the young Queen's side, his twitching gaze darting continuously to Captain Panaka's flanking patrol. Now she moved toward the Council and bowed her head regally, respectfully, and Obi-Wan's eye slid away from them.

Oh, to have a quiet, dark chamber devoid of the Council, of dutiful, unbidden responsibility, of even his thoughts—

A flush-cheeked couple swept out of the waltzing circle, descending upon the refreshment table. Obi-Wan faded back, disappearing to them.

She neared him, like ribbon. He thought about fading further back, but remained where he was, waiting.

"Guarding the punch bowl?"

"It's a remarkable bowl, as far as punch bowls go."

"Yes," Sabé nodded, "we are very serious about our punch."

Obi-Wan tried to smile, for her, but he noted distantly he forgot how. Instead he studied her from the corner of his eye, thinking he should probably say something friendly, or, still better and needed, thank her for her silence at the reactor core, for her and the other handmaidens' henning of Anakin, for her never actually saying he should accept and move on, that everything would be okay, or for appearing unflustered, unhurt, by unsociable mourning.

But Obi-Wan said nothing. How could he form the right words? How could anyone?

Sabé, however, seemed unperturbed by his quiet. Indeed, a hint of amusement played along her eyes, twitched a corner of her mouth up a cheek as she watched the dancers. It still struck Obi-Wan to see the handmaiden without the Queen's mask or without a cowl shadowing her face. He remembered her at the opening dinner only an hour ago, quiet but attentive, introduced as merely a friend of the Queen's. No honor given at the celebration parade, no recognition at the dinner. Yet he could detect no sulkiness, no discontent or injustice. He sensed her as calm and controlled as ever, if maybe a little bright-eyed from the dinner wine.

"Why are you not attending the Queen this evening?" he asked quietly.

"She won't _let_ me." Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and she turned back to him, lively with irritation. "She and Panaka gave me the night off. _Ordered_ it, more like. Eirtaé as well. This is her element. She's circulating, gathering the real political air. Everyone thinks she's been studying privately and that's why she's been off the social circle for awhile."

"And you?"

"I'm just a silly friend of the Queen's." She shrugged and then looked decidedly put-out. "I know they mean well—Panaka and Her Highness—but I would rather be at her side. Guarding. Keeping an eye on things."

"Perhaps you should relax and enjoy the evening," he said mildly. _You're a hypocrite, Kenobi_.

"Like you?" She grinned.

"I am enjoying it."

"Yes. That's why you look ready to behead the first person to wander over for punch."

"I do _not_," he said, though he sensed it was probably true.

"You do."

Obi-Wan gave her a stern look, but it seemed to have little effect. Her teasing smile softened and she turned away just as he detected sympathy darkening her soft brown eyes. She turned back to the revelry beyond the decorative plants and large gilded bowl, seemingly enjoying the scene. Long, dark brown hair flowed in shining waves down her back, glimpses of woven pale blue and white ribbon and tiny, intricate braiding betraying the work of handmaidens. The Jedi, though not a wardrobe expert, thought it curious Sabé, who had access to the royal wardrobe, chose to wear a simple but elegantly cut gown of palest, subtle blue. Although she looked lovely, she was far from bejeweled and begowned in the extravagance waltzing before her.

He let his gaze sweep over the ballroom again.

"How long do these celebration balls last?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment, keeping his tone neutral.

Sabé gave him a sidelong look. "Well, I could check our history texts, as the last liberty ball was long before my time . . ."

_Very amusing_, Obi-Wan thought churlishly, but she flashed him a smile.

"The festivities will go on all week, I'm sure," she said, "but the Queen's ball will last a little past midnight."

"Oh." Obi-Wan phrased his next question carefully. "Does everyone stay entirely?"

He wasn't fooling her a bit. "You mean, as an honored guest how long before you can leave without seeming rude?"

"Your words, not mine." But Obi-Wan knew he looked guilty.

"Uh-huh." Sabé pressed her lips together. "Tell you what. I promise to signal you when it's safe to escape."

Obi-Wan hoped he didn't look too pathetic with gratitude.

His eye caught the Jedi Council again, and the dinner he only ate out of politeness rolled uncomfortably in his stomach. Ever since they'd arrived on Naboo, they'd been scrutinizing him, questioning him, talking to him. Most of it was necessary. He understood that. But he wished they wouldn't. The worst was the 'helpful' advisory talks, when one Master or another would take him aside and proceed to give preliminary comfort or pointers on training a Padawan. He knew they probably meant well, but it made him want to scream. So much of the time, he felt insufficient as a Padawan, still felt the sting of Yoda's reprimand that he was not ready to be a Knight. Did they only grant him Knighthood because he defeated the Sith? Did the Council only grant him permission to train Anakin because they believed they were both doomed to fail?

These fears crept in just as his grief for Qui-Gon had become bearable. Obi-Wan needed to address them, meditate before he and Anakin began their path together. He owed Qui-Gon as much. Anakin deserved no less.

Force, he wanted to be sick. And alone. In quiet darkness, away from beautiful, lively music and moving laughter. Tomorrow Anakin would be fully in his life, fully his responsibility. Most Knights spent years alone before taking on a Padawan. Obi-Wan had been looking forward to this opportunity to test himself, but that was never to be.

He just wanted to be alone. Just for one night.

"You have that beheading look again," Sabé said quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to be."

Obi-Wan looked at her, appreciating how she kept heavy sympathy out of her voice. He still felt too raw to thank her.

"You really should be enjoying your evening," he said quietly.

Sabé's eyes widened with surprise. "I am."

"I mean, you should be dancing with a young gentleman—what?" Obi-Wan stopped, frowning as she winced visibly.

She blushed slightly and ducked her eyes, looking more like a girl of fifteen than a highly trained bodyguard. "Oh no, not me."

"Why not?" he pressed. "I can't imagine a queen's handmaiden not knowing how to dance properly."

"It's not that." She looked rather pained as she bit her lower lip and wrung her fingers. "I'm . . . I'm rather shy, as it is."

Obi-Wan almost cracked a grin. "No. I don't believe it."

"Stop it. I know that look. You're having a laugh!"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sabé sniffed indignantly. "You are, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your Jedi stoicism has its limits, and you've reached it."

"My Jedi—"

"Stoicism. You heard me." Sabé crossed her arms and jutted her chin out toward the ocean of shimmering, colored waves.

Obi-Wan watched her, amused. He did not mind her presence. Maybe he even welcomed it. The heaviness surrounding him seemed a little lighter, if only for a moment. She could distract him for awhile. He wanted the night to be over, yet he wanted it to stretch on forever. Tomorrow . . . he did not want to think about tomorrow . . . Or yesterday, or the day before that, and that, and—

"Even if I wasn't shy," she said finally, "no one in his right mind would ask me."

"Why not? You're lovely." It slipped out. It was the truth, but Obi-Wan wondered if it were inappropriate, even if he only meant it as a compliment and nothing more.

Sabé gave him a sweet, blushing smile. "Thank you. The girls said as much, but . . . you know," she shrugged. "I'd rather be in normal robes. I feel nice but silly in this."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and started to say something, but she raised her chin and said pointedly, "What about you, Jedi Kenobi? Do Jedi dance?"

"_I_ don't."

"Then I rest my case," she said with satisfaction.

Obi-Wan shook his head, slipping his arms inside his wide sleeves. He noticed a small group of young Naboo men on reconnaissance nearing them, their youthful faces eager and nervous as they struggled to find courage buried deep in a bundle of anxious hormones. In the back of his mind, the Jedi wondered if, really, they were really so young. Honestly, they could not be much younger than _him_, Obi-Wan realized. Yet they seemed so fresh-faced, so twitchy—

Ah. The Jedi almost smirked. Perhaps Sabé was right. Maybe he looked ready to behead someone.

Obi-Wan bent his head to Sabé and said in a low voice, "You seem to have some admirers."

"Oh, don't be silly—" Sabé followed his gaze, then whipped her head around to him. "Damn!"

"What? Unwanted?"

Sabé nodded, and before Obi-Wan could offer his help, she grabbed his arm and hauled him away, her voice ringing chattily in his ear, "Let me introduce you to some very important people—" She doggedly swept him through the crowd and nodded toward a group of opulently dressed gentlemen and ladies standing below an impressive sculpture of a Naboo man astride a prancing equine. "That's Froen A'Lannuh," she said, something wicked hidden in her words. "He raises racing equines. If he believes you to be breathing, and therefore, interested, he'll tell you about all the intricacies of breeding lightning and endurance."

"I see . . ."

"Oh! That's Sir Donta, he lost to Her Highness . . ." and on she went. Obi-Wan retreated into a sort of mild meditation, listening to the rise and fall of Sabé's voice as she painted and colored the faceless swarm of Naboo. He absorbed the form of her words and let the meaning fall away, following her tones when she was wickedly amused, entertainingly disgusted, or utterly bored by whomever she spoke of. The Jedi cared nothing for these strangers, had no interest in their intrigues, but Obi-Wan was quite content to fill this dreadful evening meditating on voice inflection and avoiding everyone else in the room.

"Oh, goodness, there's Lady Brusskah," Sabé said, nudging Obi-Wan. "Avoid her at all costs. If she sinks her claws into you, there's no escape."

Obi-Wan followed her nod to a tall, spectacularly bejeweled woman of pale hair and proud stature. Even from here he could almost hear her insipid words. She was also not on her younger side. "I'm afraid Lady Brusskah will be very disappointed," he said mildly. "Jedi do not form emotional attachments."

"Oh, that's good," said Sabé wickedly, "as I believe she has something more physical in mind."

Obi-Wan shot her a startled look, but she feigned innocence. He cleared his throat. "Physical attachments are also out of the question," he said, thinking, _I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with a fifteen-year-old girl_. It also disturbed him that Sabé looked particularly pleased to hear this as the right corner of her mouth twitched.

Then she came to a halt, her eyes darting around, and she dropped his arm, letting out a breath of relief. "I'm sorry about that, Obi-Wan."

"I take it this was an unwanted partner?" said Obi-Wan, trying not to smirk.

The handmaiden wrinkled her nose and gave a little shudder. "Very."

Obi-Wan gave his head a little bow. "I'm happy to assist in staving off any unwanted attention."

Mischief sparkled in her soft brown eyes. "I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself." With a quick darting look, she gestured toward the deep gold-washed curtains hanging along the floor to ceiling windows. Voluminous marble columns provided a little nook for privacy. Obi-Wan followed her, wondering what exactly she was up to.

"Panaka_thinks_ I'm having a night off," Sabé said gleefully. "Stand right there—yes." Obi-Wan stood with his back to the ballroom, blocking Sabé from view with the column on his right. She lifted the waist seam of her gown, revealing a thin layer with a sheath for a tiny vibroblade. "I'm packing," she grinned.

Then—and Obi-Wan started to look away—she lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing a small, almost flat blaster strapped around the silken stocking of her left calf. Her right calf carried a sickle-shaped throwing blade.

"I pity the fool who has a bit too much to drink with you," he said wryly.

Sabé let her skirts fall and gave him a sideways grin. When they stepped out of the seclusion, Obi-Wan immediately spotted the approach of Master Depa Billaba and Master Yoda. He groaned inwardly. He glanced at Sabé, only slightly surprised to see a look of mixed curiosity and apprehension disappearing behind a calm, polite mask. Obi-Wan understood, somewhat. They'd briefly discussed her Force-sensitivity when he'd heavily hinted about it, wanting very much to divert Sabé's attention away from himself. Perhaps she anticipated some sort of reprimand from the Jedi Council, not that anything could or would be done (though Obi-Wan was sure they could sense her as he could).

_Then again_, he thought painfully,_Qui-Gon did—_had_—not._

"Masters," Obi-Wan said, bowing to Yoda and Billaba. He expected Yoda to level him the same disapproving look he'd worn since granting Obi-Wan permission to train Anakin, but curiosity lightened the diminutive Jedi Master's green eyes as they shifted to Sabé. Billaba, of course, at once looked intrigued and compassionate, making Obi-Wan want to twitch.

But, of course, the second rule of the Temple was never to twitch before a Council member.

"Master Yoda, Master Billaba," he said instead, correct and polite as he should be, "may I introduce Sabé Mabriee? She is the Queen's decoy handmaiden." The last he said quietly, unreachable to none Jedi ears.

Yoda's ears pricked and Depa Billaba smiled at Sabé, who'd bowed her head to them. Obi-Wan watched Sabé carefully, wondering how she would react to Master Yoda especially. If she were amused, she did not show it. Obi-Wan had the uncomfortable feeling Yoda was watching _him,_ and Billaba opened her mouth to speak when Obi-Wan sensed someone skulking hesitantly outside the small group.

All four of them turned at once to see a smiling but slightly nervous young man. Although Obi-Wan felt instantly on guard, he had to commend the curly haired boy for even trying to approach three Jedi, when no doubt he was asking Sabé for a dance.

"Pardon me," the boy said. Beside Obi-Wan, Sabé had stopped breathing, and he'd sensed something akin to a rapid, fleeting rush of surprise before her presence snapped tight again.

"I was just wondering," said this boy, "if I may intrude and ask Sabé for a dance?"

Obi-Wan looked at Sabé, instantly wondering if the Masters would disapprove of diverting this boy's attention, but Sabé was smiling.

"If none of you mind?" she said to the Jedi. Billaba smiled and Sabé bowed her head. She turned back to the boy. "I'd be glad to, Alek," she said, and then looked back at the Jedi with another smile. "It was lovely to meet you both."

"Thank you," said the boy—Alek, taking Sabé's hand in his own. Obi-Wan thought he darted a wary look at him.

Sabé touched Obi-Wan's arm and raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry, Obi-Wan, I haven't forgot you."

Then the boy—_Alek_—swept her off with an arm around her slim waist to the dance floor. Obi-Wan watched, feeling somehow completely cheated. Cornered by Yoda and Billaba, left to his own devices now. Sabé, he could see, was smiling and laughing with this Alek she apparently knew, stepping gracefully into the dancing movement. Yet she looked back at Obi-Wan a couple of times before the dance carried her farther across the room. Queen Amidala was also on the dance floor again, though this time with Anakin instead of Sio Bibble. The young Queen took Anakin's awkwardness in stride, as if all that mattered was the look of pure bliss on the young boy's face. Again, Obi-Wan found himself pondering these young Naboo women.

"Smittened," said Depa Billaba.

Obi-Wan gave her a startled look. "What?"

The Jedi Master smiled. "She's smitten by you."

It seemed a little redundant to say 'what?' again, nor could he tell a Master she was delusional.

"Oh?"

"On your mind, something is," said Yoda from below.

Of course there is—there always was. Especially now. But Obi-Wan could almost smile with how he could answer now. Not everything was painful tonight.

"Yes, I was just thinking about the Queen and her handmaidens," he said, "how it's strange I am amazed they are so young to be carrying such responsibility and duty bravely and admirably."

"Why is this strange?" said Billaba, a little smile on her serene face.

"Why should I be amazed? We become Padawans by thirteen. Younger than Queen Amidala and her handmaidens." He looked out at ballroom, thinking how, especially now, age seemed such an insufficient way to measure one's readiness, wisdom, or maturity. Maybe he should not fear his youth and inexperience when taking Anakin on as a Padawan. It did not spell his doom.

At least, he hoped not.

He could feel Yoda and Billaba watching him, prickling the back of his neck. Not for a minute did he doubt they knew where his words had taken his thoughts. Sometimes Obi-Wan did not believe the claim Jedi Masters could not completely read minds.

"They are not unlike Jedi in their understanding," he said quietly as Sabé waltzed into view again.

Yoda said nothing, and Obi-Wan missed the Jedi Master staring intently after her, lost deep in thought.

* * *

A buzzing din reverberated under the soaring, elegant arches, filling air left empty from the Theed orchestra's bowing chords. Curious murmurs rippled through the mass sound as the familiar, celebrated instruments and skilled musicians were replaced by mottle orange Gungans strumming and tuning instruments most Naboo had never seen or heard before this afternoon's celebration parade. From the corner of her eye, Sabé watched the assembling band as she filled her cup with punch and drank thirstily. Half the night had gone with an amazing, unexpected lack of drag.

She grinned a little to herself as she dabbed at her moist, punch-topped lips. Her feet ached a bit from the dance floor, and even her heart still hammered a little, but it was the swelling of pride that made her grin, made her glad take another cupful of cold, refreshing punch.

Sabé turned from the refreshment table and spotted Amidala and Eirtaé approaching, Saché and Rabé in tow. Eirtaé winked at Sabé, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"Your Highness," Sabé said, bowing her head.

Amidala grinned. "Glad to see you're enjoying your evening, my friend."

"Fine." Sabé rolled her eyes. "I admit it. I am having a little fun."

"Took her three dances before she stopped scanning, however," murmured Eirtaé.

_That's what you think_, Sabé thought, hiding a sly grin behind another drink. Even now she was aware of Panaka and Rabé's subtle flanking positions, took note of those within probably hearing or striking distance. Three Jedi Masters were seated nearby, one a bald, dark-skinned male, a female with tinted skin, and a short, bat-earred alien of some sort. She had not doubt they were likewise observing, though they appeared to be in mild conversation.

The left side of Saché's cloak twitched ever-so-slightly, and Sabé, under the pretense of examining Eirtaé's earrings, moved closer.

"Was that _Alek_ I saw you dancing with earlier?" Saché's eyes glittered under her cowl's shadow, a mischievous grin quirking her lips.

"Yes." Sabé again felt intense pride at this.

"Who's this?" Amidala asked quietly, a hint of girlish intrigue upon her serene royal mask.

"Just someone from my old school," shrugged Sabé. No blush rose to her cheeks. She grinned, thinking back on the evening. Oh yes, she had been shocked as anything to see him standing before her, and even more so when he asked for a dance. But that was all. Somehow she had not turned redder than a losma bud, and, astoundingly, she could speak and fully function around him.

"Not just any someone," Saché teased. "A special someone. Sabé could never speak before him. She died every time he was nearby."

Eirtaé cackled and Amidala raised an eyebrow.

"She's only slightly exaggerating," Sabé admitted. "But that was school."

"It was a half year ago!"

"Yes, but even so," she said primly. Sabé finished her punch and grinned at Eirtaé. "How goes your evening?"

"Swimmingly." The slightly taller handmaiden patted her stunning, gold embroidered white gown. "I think Lord Morfala was hinting at marriage, but I hinted not in my most inebriated dreams."

Amidala looked disturbingly wistful as the handmaidens tittered quietly. "Maybe I should have made Sabé decoy for me again this evening."

"What? So you can fend off indecent proposals by old, wealthy men?"

The young queen smiled sheepishly. "No, of course not. I just meant—"

"We know," Sabé patted her hand.

Her mind slipped away from the conversation, and she turned, as if someone had called her name. She spotted Obi-Wan Kenobi almost instantly, across the room and surrounded by inquisitive Naboo. The young Jedi looked immensely . . . well, constipated, if one was to be blunt about it. Sabé recalled the expression on his face when Alek had led her away from the Jedi trio. Perhaps a little . . . betrayed? As if she had left him in a pit with hungry, rabid mynocks. Or it could have been her imagination. Very little but intense grumpiness—as Eirtaé put it—showed in the young Jedi's handsome features.

Now, as she looked, Obi-Wan turned slightly and caught her. Several times that evening she'd traded looks with him, almost hearing him ask_Can I go now?_ He looked downright miserable then, and, if were possible, even more so now.

" . . . brings us back to your hypothetical, Sabé."

Sabé whipped around, startled. "What?"

Amidala raised her eyebrows, her perfectly painted lips twitching. "We were just discussing you and your minding of Jedi Kenobi."

"Oh." Sabé frowned, not missing Saché's barely muffled snort. "Yes?" She'd hinted to Amidala earlier, after the queen had taken her turn at speaking to the Jedi.

"Ordinarily I would retire at the orchestra's interlude," said Amidala, "but I believe I should listen to the Gungans' own musical movement." She said this beautifully, graciously, yet Sabé could read from her, clear as Basic, _I would like to go now, but forming good relations is forming good relations, so I'll bear through it someway, somehow, woe._ "So," she continued, "if in a hypothetical situation a hypothetical honored guest wished to politely leave without disgrace, then that hypothetical person may leave after enjoying the Gungan opening."

"Hypothetically," Eirtaé coughed.

"I think, hypothetically, you need to brush up on your code," said Sabé. She glanced over her shoulder again, feeling distinctly as if she were being watched. From this distance, it was difficult to tell for certain whether Obi-Wan was vying to visually plead her, but she knew he was also very good at staring without appearing to. Still, the back of her neck prickled.

"The Jedi are not much for parties, are they?" said Eirtaé. "I invited Kenobi to dance, but he declined."

"Me as well," said Sabé. "Maybe you should ask one of the Masters?"

"The other human looks grumpier than _he_ does, and I didn't think it was possible." Eirtaé shrugged. "No matter. I have little trouble finding a partner." She raised a fair eyebrow. "Neither do you."

"You exaggerate." Sabé waved a hand dismissively, and then grinned wickedly. "However, I have just become a little richer. Rabé and I win."

Amidala's mouth dropped and Eirtaé looked thoroughly impressed while the other handmaidens barely contained their gasps.

"You actually _asked_?"

"Heavens, no! I could never directly ask that!" The thought alone heated her cheeks, but she fought the rushing blood down.

"Then how do you know?" Amidala wanted to know. She, of all of them, had looked most embarrassed when the bet had been placed in the royal chambers. Despite herself, however, she now looked genuinely curious.

"Oh, I just hinted that Lady Brusskah would consider him an evening well spent and—" She leveled the giggling handmaidens with a stern look (appearances must be kept, after all). "—and he simply confirmed emotion and physical attachments are out of the question." Sabé allowed herself an immodest grin. "So, cough up tonight."

"Maybe he just said that because he doesn't like blondes," Saché suggested innocently, earning a scowl from Eirtaé.

"You just don't want to pay," Sabé accused.

"We all honor our bets," said Amidala.

At that moment, Boss Noss and the Gungan Master of Ceremonies came forward, and Sabé and Eirtaé both bowed away to let royalty be royalty. The Gungan musicians appeared to be done tuning and soon the second half of the evening would begin.

"So, Jedi are celibate," Eirtaé murmured, her eyes trailing across the open plain of the dance floor toward Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Pity."

Sabé suppressed an irritation with the seventeen-year-old handmaiden. She knew Eirtaé was not questioning duty, but for a moment the older girl's teasing comment rankled. A moment later the Gungan Master of Ceremonies struck up the evening, spilling lively, strange music into the palace ballroom. The two handmaidens laughed gleefully as Boss Noss led the obliging Queen Amidala into the congregation of energetic Gungans for what, it became apparent, was a reel significant to a Naboo Grand March.

"I am so glad I'm not her right now," said Sabé.

"I'll be sure to tell her." Some of the braver—or maybe drunker—Naboo were venturing into the jovial melee, and Eirtaé gestured toward a cluster of young men she and Sabé had danced one or two with. "Are coming along?"

"I'm surprised your dignity can bear it," Sabé teased.

Eirtaé sniffed, but the wine seemed to take the severity out of her. "I figure no one will remember by morning, anyway. And you?"

"Maybe later."

Eirtaé pretended to pout before gliding away. Sabé slipped through the crowds gathering around the Gungan dance, glad to escape the possibility of yet _more_ dances. She rather liked the fast, bouncing beat as it reminded her of village parties years ago and dancing with her father, who boomed when he sang. Her chest tightened at the memory and she bit her lip. Just yesterday she'd seen her father, just returned after five months due to the blockade, but he could not stay; supplies needed to be distributed all over the planet and he needed to get to Thasyin.

Sabé ducked away from Alek as she caught sight of him again. Such a relief to discover she no longer carried a flame for him. She thought back, a little smile on her face, to her relief and disappointment to have escaped the school ball at the end of exams. No need to be thoroughly miserable and uncomfortable along the wall—she had taken her exams quietly and left for Theed. She'd given little thought to Alek then, and now, she could not believe only a half year had passed since.

Still . . . she did not feel like accepting any more dances. Oh yes, she'd had fun. Once she realized she could hold a conversation and not fall on her face or damage anyone's toes, she enjoyed herself. If only a little bored.

The handmaiden slipped through a parting in the crowd and caught sight of her destination. Tingles played along her neck as she neared, and she tightened her hold on a skip of apprehension. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood cornered by three Jedi Masters, looking properly attentive while still exuding the air of a frightened, trapped animal about to be eaten alive. Yoda and Depa Billaba were accompanied by a bearded, cone-headed Master. Obi-Wan's blue eyes flickered toward her, and although his expression did not detectably change, Sabé swore she felt a jolt.

Then he raised his eyebrows, just a tiny bit, and she nodded. Striding forward, urging her heart not to gallop and hammer about, Sabé cleared her throat.

"Pardon me," she said with a smile as the Jedi turned, "but may I pry Jedi Kenobi away? There are some people he _must_ speak with."

As she spoke, felt the flicker of darting, knowing Jedi eyes, and somehow, smoothly, her arm stretched through the group, parting it like water, and Obi-Wan floated gracefully to her, anchoring as she linked her arm through his. Then they were out of the group, matching pace perfectly although Sabé was actually leading, and Sabé actually _felt_ her feet touching the smooth, firm floor.

"Oh, by the gods," she whispered.

She would be fool to think she felt Obi-Wan's relief, but it was like a wave breaking over her. Just as she was about to lead him down a curtained side corridor, Obi-Wan hesitated and glanced back, and Sabé followed his searching gaze.

Anakin.

"He'll be fine," she said quietly. "We're looking after him."

Obi-Wan stayed very still for another second, then nodded and gestured for her to continue on, his face unreadable.

Sabé led him down the corridor, passing an amorous pair or two, and then, with a quick glance around, pulled Obi-Wan around a statue and pressed her palm against the paneled wall. The barest flicker betrayed the holographic change and Sabé stepped forward, seemingly disappearing like a phantom into the wall. The Jedi followed a step behind.

A sufficiently lit passageway stretched before them, wide enough to allow a fully gowned Queen and her escorts easy passage.

Sabé turned to Obi-Wan, smiling with relief. She felt a little dizzy. "I cannot believe I just lied to Jedi Masters."

Obi-Wan bowed his head, a corner of his mouth twitching. "I am in your debt."

"You have done far more for us than I could ever repay," Sabé said quietly. The intense shadow of his face deepened, so she said, "The palace is riddled with these passages. They're very convenient for security or escaping long parties."

Obi-Wan followed her silently through the maze of passages she knew by heart. Finally they emerged on the other side of the palace in the guest corridor. It was empty except for the posted night watch, who would only see them as rounding the bend. The night breeze brushed her skin she stepped into the corridor, and she could see the garden trees rustling gently along the open arches of the corridor's west side.

"Well, here you are," she said, turning to Obi-Wan. In that single movement, her stomach emptied into some strange inner vacuum. Suddenly she wished they had not fled the ballroom.

The Jedi's eyes swept the corridor before falling to her, gratitude mixing with the deep sadness that had filled Obi-Wan Kenobi these past few days. Sabé felt her empty stomach tighten, felt silly and foolish and entirely too wistful.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said softly.

She wondered what exactly for . . .

"The gardens are lovely at night, if you are not ready to retire," she said quietly. Obi-Wan gave her an enquiring look, and Sabé blushed a little, grateful for the dimmer evening lighting.

Her eyes trailed to his shoulder where the long, thin braid used to hang. How giddy and silly they had been, speculating about it, giggling over tugging it, releasing their nerves on such superfluous talk.

"Sabé?"

She glanced up and blinked. Obi-Wan was staring at her, as if wondering if she were quite all right. "Sorry," she said, again feeling a hint of a blush coming on. And tonight she'd been doing so well! "It's just—your braid. I'm not used to it being gone. Silly, I know."

Obi-Wan smiled slightly thing, apparently amused, though sadness touched it. "I'm not quite used to it, either." His gaze drifted away, perhaps searching through the curving walls to the ballroom, to the past.

"Don't worry about Anakin tonight."

"I really shouldn't leave him alone. He's my responsibility."

"Leave him to us. We'll properly exhaust him, so he'll sleep at the trip's start."

Obi-Wan gave her another grateful look. Then he raked his spiky hair, apparently lost for what to do. He looked exhausted and vulnerable, ready to fall apart but unwilling to do so. Sabé wondered if he realized this.

"Goodnight, Obi-Wan."

She started to back away and turn—

"Sabé." Obi-Wan caught her hand and covered it with his other. "Thank you," he said, voice tight, eyes filled with barely contained, chaotic emotion. "For—for everything."

She smiled, though she felt a lump in her throat, a skittering in her chest. "But I haven't—"

"No. Really." His grip on her hands was tight; it seemed best to just let him have his say. "I'm glad to have met you, Sabé."

"And I you." She tilted her head to the side. "Even if you were grouchy and made me twitchy at first."

There—a smirk. "Twitchy?" Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes. I wanted to scream at you when Her Highness was briefing everyone on the ship. No," she amended, "I wanted to scream many times before that."

"Deception often breeds paranoia," the Jedi admonished lightly. Sabé rewarded him with a scowl and he chuckled under his breath.

Her smile faded and she fought back a sigh. "I suppose this is good-bye, isn't it? Tomorrow will be official, and . . ." It was no way to say good-bye to Obi-Wan. He seemed to understand and nodded, a trace of a sad smile curving his grim mouth. Sabé let out a sigh and shook her head. "I suppose Jedi say too many good-byes to count."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. "I wonder sometimes if I will ever cease to be amazed how quickly friends appear on missions. Friends I will more than likely never see again. Of course," he amended wryly, "that is probably a good thing for _them_."

"It takes planetary disaster for a Jedi to visit."

"Perhaps someday the Council will believe in real holidays."

Sabé laughed, but it floated away into the night, again leaving her feeling strangely empty. Obi-Wan's gaze drifted away, as if following it, and then he slowly looked down at her again, and Sabé sadly knew the inevitable had come, that anymore chitchat was pointless and flat.

"Good-bye, Obi-Wan," she said quietly, throat tight.

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "Good-bye, Sabé." He bowed and brushed a kiss over the top of her hand before letting go.

Then they parted, turning away to separate lives. Sabé faded into the passage, glimpsing the cloaked form journeying down the corridor, the cast shadows enwrapping him, swallowing him, into a destiny unknown to her.

She sucked in a deep breath, shook the heaviness to the back of her mind, and started back up the passage, back to the ball, back to her duties.

* * *

"Sabé."

It sliced her from shoulder to hip, a thick, screaming blade through her chest, making her gasp softly, and yet it punched through her gut, an iron fist, forcing air up through her slaughtered lungs. She closed her eyes against it.

He knew. It was up it. It was over. _He knew_. Not why—but he knew_her_. In those two syllables, softly spoken but final in every way, she fell apart and came together. The shadow game fell away; her wall, her protection—gone. In that single breath, she was transformed from mere prisoner, anonymous with dutiful intent, to what she was, who she was, before his very eyes—and it left her cold.

"It's you, isn't it."

No, no, it wasn't her. Could not be her. Not Sabé Mabriee. Not ever. But the cold said, yes, it was her, did she not carry that name? In shadow, yes, not here on this metal floor, shackled and kneeling at her captor's feet. Not with blood on her hands, blood all over her. Yes, yes, it was her, she knew this, knew it as she sucked in a shuddering breath—her lungs told her so. She wanted shadow, wanted anonymity, the stone cold of namelessness, of calculated, silent threat. Of knowledge beyond him, knowledge she could not speak. But he knew it now. Knew _her_ now.

"Yes," Sabé breathed, opening her eyes to the floor.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood stock still. The cargo hold vibrated with his stillness. She fought to breathe under his stare, kept her head bowed, her shields up. The Force shifted uneasily about her, as if ducking her ragged breathing, unable to steady her. _This changes nothing_, she tried to tell herself. No—it changed everything.

"Sabé," Obi-Wan repeated, somehow beckoning her eyes to him.

His gaze burned her like frost, but she did not look away, did not let her cheeks flush with shame.

"I do not want to believe it," said Obi-Wan, too tight to shake his head.

Sabé said nothing. She was lost and gone, but she still had Yoda to protect, secrets to keep. Nothing to save herself, nothing to be done about that.

The Jedi Knight's icy, stern look dissolved some as he raked a hand through his ginger brown hair, conflict and confusion battling for leverage over him. Then the hard edge returned as he crossed his arms and regarded her coolly.

"I spoke to Dormé a few weeks ago," said Obi-Wan, "asking after you."

Sabé kept the frown from her face. One of the new handmaidens, no doubt.

"She was reluctant to say anything, only that she knew nothing of a Sabé Mabriee, except that she left Senator Amidala and the topic was strictly forbidden." Sabé's jaw clenched. Obi-Wan fastened her with a severe, disgusted frown, stepping forward. "And to think you've become a bounty hunter—"

Fury boiled in her, and before she could calm herself, Sabé used the Force to pull her up as quickly and smoothly as possible when to shackled to a pole.

"I am _not_ a bounty hunter!" she spat angrily. "Nor am I murdering Padawans!"

Obi-Wan stopped short and Sabé sucked in a deep breath, glaring fiercely as her heart pounded frantically. The Jedi Knight stared at her for a second, then took another step forward, and Sabé pressed her back firmly against the pole and raised her chin defiantly. She would not be intimidated, and she needed to calm the hell down.

"No?" said Obi-Wan in a quiet, deadly voice. "Did you not just attempt to murder my own Padawan?"

He stood a head taller than her, and Sabé knew he must be able to hear her heart banging away against her ribs. But she leveled him a cool look, drew upon Yoda's words, upon Skywalker's deeds.

"Yes," she said.

"Would you care to tell me why?"

If not for her training, Sabé would have shivered at the cold, fatal intensity in Obi-Wan's eyes and words. He was so close she caught his scent, could almost hear his silent, controlled breathing; she tingled with his familiar presence, purposely pressing along her defenses, scanning her, studying her, trying to find a way into her, through her. Sabé desperately wanted to break away, escape him, but she forced herself to keep glaring, keep resisting.

"_No_."

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened, hidden beneath his light beard, but Sabé could see it as if she'd felt it herself. He stepped back, and although every aspect of him exemplified Jedi calm, Sabé wondered if he needed to collect himself. Which was fine; _she_ needed to collect herself.

After a moment, Obi-Wan looked at her again, apparently serene and relaxed as if he'd invited her over for tea. "You were always full of surprises." She said nothing, and a trace of a wry smile appeared on his face. "Except your silence is consistent, and that withering look will get you nowhere."

Sabé dug her nails into her palms. The manacles tightened and she forced herself to relax. How infuriating!

"How about an easier question? Why are you no longer serving Senator Amidala?"

"Ask her yourself."

"Dormé said you left."

Sabé gritted her teeth. After five years, it should not hurt so much, it should not smolder. Yet she could barely contain her anger and pain behind her tight shields, and from the flicker in Obi-Wan's eyes, he'd picked up on it.

"You say you're not a bounty hunter," said Obi-Wan, "yet you came well equipped for the job."

Sabé's wrists itched from the manacles. The sickening memory of a previous captive sprung to mind. The reptilian bounty hunter . . . her first kill.

"I'm . . . not." She swallowed the bile in her throat. The brush of severed Padawan braids fell through her fingertips. _I'm not that. I'm nothing like that_. "And I don't kill Jedi."

"Yet you admit you targeted Anakin."

"I said I don't kill _Jedi_."

Obi-Wan's brow knitted. "Are saying Anakin is not a Jedi?" Sabé said nothing, but she may as well have nodded. "Why would you say Anakin is not a Jedi?"

"I suppose you should ask him about that," she quipped. _Shut up, you idiot!_

The Jedi Knight shook his head and leaned back against the wall, his blue-grey eyes never leaving her. Sabé could feel the Force shift around them, knew Obi-Wan never ceased in examining her through it. But her shields were firm.

"You've been trained."

Sabé merely stared back, carefully expressionless.

Obi-Wan smiled, gently mirthless. "You've been trained very well." He looked thoughtful, curious as he openly studied. "Anakin wants to believe you are Sith, but I do not believe so. You feel . . . different." Something flickered across his face, but then Obi-Wan's thoughtful expression resumed. "Perhaps Count Dooku trained you?"

Sabé could not keep her offense off her face.

"No," said Obi-Wan, scratching his beard. "It would have made for nice, tidy explanation, though."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Sabé said wryly.

"Hmm." The Jedi Knight grew quiet for a moment, then stood up and closed the space between them again. Sabé gripped the pole behind her back, feeling utterly wretched under his piercing gaze. Obi-Wan wanted to know, wanted to understand—and she could not tell him, even if she wanted to.

"Why, Sabé?" he asked quietly.

Sabé looked up at him for a long moment, painfully remembering the gratitude she'd seen in his blue eyes many years ago, the brief friendship she had never imagined would spur such a change in her life five years later. By the gods, it hurt.

Obi-Wan watched the conflict mar her dark brown eyes, still marveling at his mind's stubborn inability to match this woman to the memory. The soft innocence was gone, yet she almost rudely looked too familiar, a mock-up of how life forced people to harden. But the stony mask still fit, the low, controlled voice haunted his memory of her decoy and her lighter, natural voice. Still . . . this could not be right.

The war in Sabé's eyes cleared into opaque, and a faint, joyless smile touched her lips. "You understand duty, don't you, Jedi Kenobi?" she said in a low voice.

"Yes, but I fail to see how duty comes into this," he said slowly. "You are no longer a handmaiden."

He touched it again—that scalding ice, that burn in her. Yet that insincere smile, that farce on her pale lips, remained. She stared at him, calculating, knowing. It chilled Obi-Wan.

"Tell me, Obi-Wan," she said. So quiet, so low. Tight and controlled. "If you were dismissed from the Jedi Order, would you cease to be a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan breathed deeply. She knew his answer. "No."

What in Sith hells was going on?

The hatch opened and Anakin strode in, his presence in the Force highly unsettled. Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. He really should stop with the understatements. Highly unsettled, indeed. "Anakin," he started—

"I've had enough of this!" Anakin hissed.

"Anakin,_calm down_," Obi-Wan said firmly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Anakin shrugged it off, shooting him a dark look and gesturing angrily at Sabé. "Why haven't you got real answers from her, Master?" he demanded. "For all we know, she could have sent that bounty hunter after Padmé!"

"We've already been through that round of questions," said Obi-Wan, reeling a little from the shock of Anakin's anger. He did not need the Force to feel it. Anakin disturbed the very currents of the air, and Obi-Wan had a sinking feeling his Padawan's anger control meditations needed some reinforcement.

_This has to be more than anger_, he thought almost absently as Anakin wheeled around and stormed up to Sabé. The Jedi Knight caught a spark of fear from her, but she held her ground as Obi-Wan's next thought formed into: _Oh, oh this can't be good_.

"You betrayed Padmé!" Anakin shouted in her face.

Sabé gave a short, cold laugh. "It went the other way around."

Anakin Skywalker's blood was _boiling_. His frustration and anger spun into a whirling vortex around a fear that been creeping into him, a fear that she knew, that she somehow_knew_ what had happened on Tatooine—but then this all _screamed_ when she insulted Padmé!

"Deceitful liar!" he shouted. He heard Obi-Wan bark at him, felt a hand grasp his shoulder, but Anakin ignored this, ignored all of it as he felt the Force swirl around him, pound into him like bidden thunder.

"Yes, let's talk about deceit and lying, Skywalker," Sabé said, unable to stop her baiting. She should hush, but Skywalker's lack of control, the very crackling of his overemotional madness, spurred to rise to it. She would not be cowed by him. And maybe . . . maybe this gamble would work. "Let's talk about Tatooine! Or how about Padmé, your—"

The blow sent her reeling. Through the explosion of pain she heard Obi-Wan shout. Somehow she stayed on her feet. Blackness almost pounded her down, but she kept it back, and sheer will lifted her head, righted her body from the bulkhead. She breathed heavily, the side of her head and face pure, throbbing agony.

Obi-Wan was barely holding Skywalker back, in absolute shock and disbelief. Skywalker lifted a clenched fist, pure fury and barely disguised fear crackling from his eyes, sizzling the air around him.

"You," he breathed, "will answer _my_ questions!"

"Anakin—" Obi-Wan started, his voice tight with strain.

"No, Obi-Wan! I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it!" He whirled around, knocking Obi-Wan into the bulkhead. "She will answer my questions!" Placing his hands on either side of her head, he said grimly, "Or no questions at all."

"Anakin—NO!"

But Obi-Wan was too late. Too stunned—too paralyzed with disbelief. He felt a malevolent rush punch through the Force and Sabé barely contained a scream as it crashed down on her. The Jedi Knight tried to move, tried to act, but he was fastened in place as she sank to her knees, Anakin bowing over her as the hold throbbed with concentrated power. Then Sabé screamed, raw and tortured.

Obi-Wan shoved hard against Anakin's hold, shouting as he leapt on him, wrenching his hands away. With all his strength, Obi-Wan Kenobi did something he thought he would never do—he threw his Padawan against the opposite bulkhead.

The dark, throbbing power disappeared, vacuumed out as Anakin slammed against the metal with a sickening crunch. He hit the floor, and despite everything that happened in the past seconds, Obi-Wan felt agonizing remorse at the dent in the metal. Anakin hit the floor and lay stunned and groaning.

Reeling, the Jedi Knight spared at glance at Sabé. Trembling, chaotic pain filled the Force, but she was alive. Curled and sobbing as she convulsed. Knowing not what to do, only that he needed to do it and fast, Obi-Wan trusted his instincts and reached into the cleansing purity of the Force that wasn't thundering around him and touched her forehead. He almost cried out at the painful touch, but kept his fingertips at her temples and let the healing Force soothed the pain, fill it until she quieted and stilled.

"I . . ." Anakin was stirring behind him, a searing, erratic tear in the Force.

Obi-Wan ignored him for a moment. Comprehension—where had that gone?

"I—I don't . . ."

He could not ascertain the extent of the damage. It went beyond Sabé . . . beyond Anakin.

"M-Ma-Master, I . . . I don't know what happened . . ."

Obi-Wan turned around then, for the moment completely emotionless as he regarded his apprentice. Anakin doubled over in pain, his face twisted as he struggled. Maybe the throw had injured him. Maybe not.

"Master?"

Silently, Obi-Wan passed his hand over his Padawan's eyes. They closed and he slumped to the floor, and Obi-Wan suddenly knew what it was like to be in a black hole.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The Lorian hung in dead space, a belying cocoon wrapping around its passengers, a false protector against roiling conflict marring the stars far beyond. Rather, its grey hull was protecting the rest of the galaxy from the worm manifesting inside. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not particularly anxious to see what would spring forth once its two unconscious occupants awoke.

Obi-Wan winced as he sank to the ship's corridor floor. Usually he could simply open himself to exterior elements of the Force, but now he struggled not to defensively block it. The filtered air shivered with disturbance, quivering like glossy, dark fur over a tightly-coiled predator. Or perhaps the prey? He could feel the deep, blackening purple bruise in the cargo hold. Sabé. But was she even Sabé now? What was the extent of the damage?

Damage. Obi-Wan shuddered as he peered into the open cabin door where his apprentice lay. Even after several minutes had passed, Obi-Wan still could not shake his disbelief. Stunned, he was stunned. By everything. By the revelation over Sabé, by his Padawan's actions, by the undeniable fact the dark side was here, by throwing his own apprentice against the bulkhead, and—Obi-Wan sucked in a tight breath—by shackling Anakin to the sleep couch.

_What have I done?_ he thought, staring, uncomprehending. The action had been deliberate. He'd debated and weighed it, and although he'd done it, he could not quite justify it. If Anakin woke to find himself imprisoned by his own Master—well, Obi-Wan needed little imagination. Yet Anakin was still hemorrhaging, bleeding through the Force, unable to scab over. It felt infected. Whatever had happened in the cargo hold, it had not passed through Anakin, and Obi-Wan, no matter how much he wanted to, could not deny his Padawan had wielded the dark side with intention.

Maybe Anakin had not realized it—maybe he had. Did it even matter? Of course it did—but then _what_ exactly?

Obi-Wan shook his head firmly. This was why he was going to meditate. He was still reeling, he needed to find his calm center, sort things out, and then take action. Emergency meditation. And, as much as it stung, Obi-Wan did not trust a conscious, free Anakin while he sorted out his thoughts.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, sinking into his own Force-woven cocoon of calm, knowing he would not find it immediately outside himself. Not with the Force shifting uneasily so. Soon he was calm, detached yet deep inside himself. The events in the hold floated through him, around him, like the thick, gelatinous but clear swamp water of Otah Gunga. He began easily, letting his examination of Sabé seep into and through him.

He'd found it difficult to connect the distant, closed assassin with the warm, open girl from his memory. Yet it was her, or a remnant of her. A reinforced piece of Sabé, tightly clenched, a fist. Obi-Wan had begun to believe it, to believe _her_. She burned under her stone shell. Accusing her of bounty hunting, of taking lives for money, had insulted the duty-bound handmaiden he'd briefly known on Naboo. _"You understand duty, don't you, Jedi Kenobi?"_ What sort of duty meant murdering Anakin? And what did she mean by insinuating Anakin was not a Jedi? The questioning could only multiply here, and Obi-Wan moved on to yet another mystery surrounding his secretive prisoner: her training. She was not powerful in the Force, yet she felt . . . controlled. More so than he remembered; she could inwardly manipulate it. She meditated more like a Jedi; she was _aware_ of her abilities and their limits. Who, if not Dooku, had trained her? And did that person send her after Anakin? And why did she leave the Naboo Senator's service, and why had Dormé been so uneasy about it? Obi-Wan did not need the Force to feel the deep, searing cut buried in Sabé at the mention of Amidala, and he sensed that, somehow, it all connected.

A thin tendril twined around him, and Obi-Wan obligingly focused. She accused Anakin of deceit, but what was it next? Padmé, his—what? Fury overpowered Anakin then, fury and . . . fear? Fear of what? And she mentioned Tatooine—

Obi-Wan paused and refocused, unwinding the tendril, examining it unfurled and drifting quietly before him. Something had happened on Tatooine. Something to turn Anakin ballistic. His mother had died, which explained anguish, but not anger or fear. What deceit on Tatooine? What did Padmé have to do with it? The tentacle twitched, bait on a lure, and Obi-Wan snatched it.

Anakin's feelings for the Senator were obvious. Deceit, Padmé, Tatooine . . . Fury and fear. It made sense, and yet Obi-Wan sensed he had not swallowed it all, something was missing, something _big_. Bigger than romance, anyway.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan focused on his Padawan, acutely feeling the hemorrhage only meters away. He saw Anakin strike Sabé again. No matter the following events, one thing remained clear and sharp and conclusive: Anakin had used physical violence on another living being out of anger and with full intent to cause harm. Obi-Wan only felt a little relief Anakin had not used his mechanical arm. _It would have killed her._ _Though death may be kinder in the end_, he realized with severe trepidation.

What had Anakin done? Yes, Obi-Wan felt certain, Anakin meant to break through Sabé's shields, but subtlety was required. Anakin was not subtle. On a good day he was aggressively forthright.

Yet here . . . here Anakin _attacked_ with power beyond aggression, beyond anger. It smote of the dark side, it reaped ash. Whether Anakin recognized what he was doing, it didn't matter, it would never matter. He had done more than lose control, he had _wielded_ with _intent_, and it was irreparable. Even if Sabé withstood the onslaught, the consequences remained, were breathing and growing. The Force stirred and twisted with them.

Another tentacle swam past, twining around Anakin's actions in the hangar. What had he done to Sabé the first time?

Obi-Wan came out of his meditation with grim resolve. Of all the questions swirling around him, one thing was certain: He must get to Coruscant.

"_You understand duty, don't you, Jedi Kenobi?"_

Obi-Wan shook his head. That spectral look still haunted him.

As he rose, he felt only mildly refreshed. Putting Anakin under had taken more than he liked, and the crackling afterburn of—whatever that had been—drained Obi-Wan's energy. Still, emergency meditation helped. He felt calmer, a little clearer, but heavy foreboding dragged from his shoulders down to his feet.

But he must contact the Temple.

First he checked Anakin, finding his apprentice still unconscious, though he stung in the Force. Obi-Wan wavered over removing the manacles. What if Anakin awoke during the transmission to Coruscant? He would assume the very worst, and Obi-Wan knew whatever hold he still had over Anakin would be lost. Yet he could not risk the alternative . . . Frowning, Obi-Wan placed a palm over the younger Jedi's sweaty brow, buying a little more time.

Then he moved onto Sabé, cringing at her purple-black bruise in the Force and the one gracing the left side of her face. Obi-Wan had set it healing, but it still grotesquely marbled her pale skin. Again, a sharp pang gripped his chest. Had Anakin used his right arm, he would have killed her. No uncertainty of the consequences lay there.

Nor was Anakin anywhere in the clear. Sabé lay twisted under the blanket Obi-Wan had taken from the sleep couch. Her tightly-knit brow beaded with icy sweat, her eyes rolled under squeezed eyelids, and small, painful gasps passed through her lips. No one needed the Force to see and feel the agony she was in.

_This . . . Anakin did this_, Obi-Wan thought, a spark of anger mixing with revulsion and stubborn disbelief. He released the emotion, however, and reached into his calm. She cried out as he brushed her temples, froze as every muscle in her body contracted, and then slowly relaxed, becoming limp and submissive as the healing Force soaked through the bruising. When her breathing became closer to normal, though still shallower than Obi-Wan would've liked, he tenderly touched her cheek, aiding the superficial healing.

The Jedi lingered a moment longer, then reluctantly returned to the cockpit, unable to delay the inevitable and necessary.

Last time he'd contacted the Temple, it had been on Wydrillion. Just as he was wondering how long it would take to calibrate a secure Jedi connection to the Temple, Obi-Wan gained a second surprise. The ship's computer seemed almost _ready_ and _obliging_.

"Perhaps the Force is with this computer," Obi-Wan muttered as he waited for the Temple to accept his signal.

The comm screen flickered to life, and Obi-Wan felt anxious relief to see Mace Windu and Yoda.

"Masters." Obi-Wan bowed his head.

"The transmission code was urgent," said Mace Windu, obliterating any pleasantries or formalities.

"Yes, Masters," said Obi-Wan, wishing for a brief moment he could stop time. "Something has happened with Anakin."

"Felt this, I did," Yoda said quietly. The Jedi Master's large, round eyes were dark and grey, and he seemed, to Obi-Wan, to peer far across the galaxy rather than at him.

"What happened?" demanded Windu.

_Too much_. Obi-Wan allowed a moment to collect his thoughts and words. He could not ease the facts; he must remain objective and detached, if only in words alone. Nothing less would be expected. Or acceptable. _Dutiful_, Obi-Wan thought, though it seemed to come from Sabé's lips.

"Anakin has done something . . . bad." Speaking before members of the Council, Obi-Wan felt, was never one of his strong points. Quickly, he reiterated the events as best he could, watching Mace Windu's impassive face hardened remarkably further. Yoda . . . he could not discern, which was nothing unusual or telling.

"You are certain you felt Anakin use the dark side?" Windu asked, once Obi-Wan concluded.

Obi-Wan could not hide a wince. "I am certain." _I'm sorry, Anakin_.

Windu and Yoda looked significantly at one another, but remained silent for another moment before the taller Jedi Master spoke again.

"Where is he now?"

"Unconscious. For how long, I do not know."

"Come to Coruscant as soon as this transmission ends," said Windu. "This matter will be discussed with the Council before you arrive. Obi-Wan," and here the Jedi Master looked almost sympathetic, "I am sorry. But you are right in telling us."

Obi-Wan nodded numbly. Nothing felt right.

"What should I do, Masters?"

"What you have been. Keep calm."

Only Jedi training and respect kept Obi-Wan from shooting Windu a dirty look. Keep calm, indeed. Sometimes he really did not like the Jedi Council . . . Obi-Wan pushed the thought away and glanced between the Jedi Masters, refocusing his uncertainty for something useful.

"What of S—the assassin?" he asked carefully.

Yoda's ears pricked forward. "Wise you are to use the healing Force on her, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded. He had not expected much more of an answer. She was unconscious; little could be known until she surfaced, and even then, he had very little mind healing abilities or training.

"Do you have more to say, Obi-Wan?" Windu prompted when the younger Jedi slipped into silence.

A reluctant, inaudible sigh escaped him. He could not withhold the information, nor should he even _want_ to. Yet he had the strange urge to keep Sabé's identity secret. Maybe he simply wanted to deny it a little longer, but that was not becoming of a Jedi.

"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan. "I've discovered the identity of the assassin. That is really about all," he added quickly as Master Windu leaned forward; Yoda remained unflappable. "She is Senator Amidala's former decoy. Sabé."

Windu almost blinked, but allowed an eyebrow to arch. "That is . . . unexpected."

_Master Understatement_, Obi-Wan thought ruefully. "Yes."

Yoda only looked mildly contemplative as he stared at Obi-Wan.

"She's been trained in the Force, I have no doubt," Obi-Wan continued, "but not by Count Dooku."

"I vaguely remember this girl," Windu said thoughtfully. "Is she strong in the Force?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. No, she was not strong compared to a Jedi, not even close. But then why could he sense her so easily? "No, Master Windu, but she is well-trained." Absently he thought about Anakin's stubborn incomprehension that raw power itself did not measure a Jedi's abilities, but then the horrific vision of his Padawan clamping sheer power around Sabé's head filled Obi-Wan's mind.

Focus, focus.

"Intriguing, this is," said Yoda. "But more urgent, is this matter with your Padawan."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but Master Windu cut him off. "We trust you to handle things until you reach the Temple, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you."

"And you, Masters."

The transmission flickered out, leaving Obi-Wan in terrible silence. He took a moment to rub his eyes and transform the blaring silence into a quiet hum. Outside the viewscreen, empty, black space draped around the Lorian. Somewhere, far beyond the tiny pinpricks of the nearest systems, a war was beginning to wage, and yet, to Obi-Wan, it did not exist. Once again he stood in the death arena, but something worse, more dangerous, was waiting in the dark cage on the other side.

_It's your weariness getting to you, Kenobi_, he silently scolded himself. _Perhaps Anakin will wake up, perfectly normal, Sabé will be fine, and all of this will blow over._ Of course, Obi-Wan also reasoned as he set to the navicomputer and prepped the engines idling on conserve, he was not a Jedi known for optimism.

Just as the Lorian jumped into hyperspace, Obi-Wan felt a shift in the Force.

Anakin was waking up.

* * *

Sometimes Anakin Skywalker wished he did not, upon waking up, remember everything with perfect clarity. No matter how badly or well he slept, he always knew exactly where he was and what he'd been doing just before drifting off. Now he knew it was a Jedi trait, and a very useful one at that. But sometimes—like right now—he envied those lesser beings who experienced a few precious moments of blissful disorientation.

As he came into consciousness, Anakin had a very bad feeling he was in serious trouble and it would not be a very good day. This assessment was merely a crude summary of what waking up, especially on this particular occasion, was like. He knew he was awake because he could put simple words to the raging tumult in him and around him. All at once, each minute detail and sensation greedy for his attention, Anakin felt the blind, painful fury of the Tusken camp, wanted to scream with panic and rage as his assassin smirked disdainfully at him, her colorless lips gleefully spilling his deepest secret, his only source of happiness; his hands still throbbed with the thick but smooth, black-oiled power he'd bore down upon her; the intoxicating mixture of euphoria and nausea as he wielded such depth of the Force, saw what he'd been too blind with grief to see on Tatooine—

But he also ached from the slam into the bulkhead, inwardly shivered at the look in Obi-Wan's eyes. As if he, Anakin, was only a stranger . . . That told Anakin he was waking up, and it promised to be a very long day.

He also sensed Obi-Wan beside him, and knew it would be useless and unbecoming of a Padawan to feign sleep for even a second. Anakin opened his eyes as Obi-Wan finished slipping something into his robes.

The bad feeling, Anakin thought, was very correct.

Obi-Wan's face said it all. Or rather, it said nothing all, which was always the most telling. Anakin never liked seeing this particular face on Obi-Wan. It was worse than his Serious face, but somehow less severe but worse than his Very Serious frown. It meant Anakin had once again Disappointed, but Obi-Wan, being the Jedi and Master that he was, would do his best to draw out the impact as long as possible.

This always confirmed what Anakin had soon learned after coming to the Jedi Temple.

Masters were sadists.

Obi-Wan would have a different point of view. Of course.

_I should probably say something, _Anakin thought. Sitting up, he said, "Master." It came out as a croak. Anakin ran his tongue around a thick, dry mouth.

Obi-Wan, still stylistically expressionless, handed him a flask of water. Anakin drained it. The low-key hum of the ship's hyperdrive finally registered as he finished the flask, but it could not penetrate the cumbersome silence between apprentice and master. Anakin slowly capped the flask, fighting to keep edgy defiance off his face.

_He's going to sit here and stare at me in silence until I say something_, Anakin realized as a full minute passed. _Whatever I say first will decide how this goes._ He had to be careful, had to think this through. Surely, 'You threw me against the bulkhead!' would not be well met. Truth be it, he did not feel particularly wronged by that. A little hurt, yes, and just a touch annoyed. Okay, really annoyed. But, if Anakin wanted to be fair, his Master had some strong reason. Anakin _had_ disobeyed_, had_ hurt the assassin, _had_ used the Force to hold Obi-Wan back until his focus slipped.

But Anakin had his reasons, too. He had no qualms in causing his assassin a little pain. They needed the information from her. More than Anakin's life was riding on it. If it was only his—well, it would not matter as much. But this—this _killer_ had orders from someone else. She could be the link they needed. And—here Anakin felt immensely justified—she might know who had sent the bounty hunters after Padmé. _That_ meant more than Anakin's own life, _that_meant more than those dead, nameless Padawans.

And she had betrayed Padmé! Leave her to hunt people for money. It made Anakin's blood boil, but at the same time, it ran cold. She knew, didn't she? Knew about their secret marriage, knew about Tatooine . . . Some information should never get out of her.

Never.

Anakin rubbed his eyes, stalling, as he delicately chose his opening.

"Er—how is she?"

There. Jedi show concern for others before themselves.

He couldn't quite meet Obi-Wan's eyes, but Anakin felt certain he said the right thing, even if it sounded like he was admitting to wrong. Humility usually worked well on his Master.

"Alive," Obi-Wan said sharply.

Well, that seemed a bit melodramatic. "What? I didn't exactly try to kill her or anything—"

"You nearly did, however."

Anakin looked up, bewildered. Then he blinked, remembering a small detail he'd forgotten. Glancing down, he saw his hand was slightly bruised. "Oh," was all he could think to say. "I didn't mean to."

"That, Anakin, is not an excuse."

_But it's the truth!_ he wanted to scream. He didn't want to kill her! Just shut her up and break her will, so she would tell him what he wanted to know but not give anything else away. Had not Obi-Wan been trying the same thing? Only he'd been ineffective, unwilling to cause any _pain_ to the one who tried to _murder_ his own Padawan!

Anakin clenched his fists as the injustice riled. "Did it work?" he asked, unable to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "Did I break her?"

"Her shields, I mean," he added when Obi-Wan's face snapped, horrified.

The Jedi Knight did not answer as he carefully slid behind the mask Anakin hated so much. "I do not know," Obi-Wan said finally. "Broken, she may very well be, but likely not in the way you mean."

'Whoops' seemed an inappropriate response. Anakin looked away and straightened his shoulders. "We're in hyperspace," he said absently.

"Anakin. Look at me."

A command. Damn it. Outright disobedience at this moment would not help him, Anakin knew. Reluctantly, he steeled his features and looked at Obi-Wan. His insides churned uncomfortably at the lost grimness in his mentor and friend's face. The light beard Obi-Wan had taken to a year ago accentuated his deepening frown; Anakin remembered calling Obi-Wan on his obvious attempt at visually reminding him who was the Master. Facing Obi-Wan now, Anakin felt a cold prick of fear. What would Obi-Wan do? Would he tell the Jedi Council?

"Anakin," said Obi-Wan, leaning forward. They were level and only inches apart, and yet Anakin felt as if some divide had cracked open between them, widening like a suns-killed trench on Tatooine. "I will be completely honest with you, but you must—and I mean _you must_—be honest with me."

"I am always honest with you, Master," Anakin lied.

Obi-Wan said nothing, only stared at him just like the Council always did. _Through_ him.

Anakin looked away.

"_Anakin_."

Gritting his teeth, Anakin lifted his head. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan sat back and crossed his arms. He did not look stern, necessarily, nor did he appear relaxed. "Tell me what happened. Why you attacked Sabé."

He used her name. Something about it set Anakin on edge.

"I . . ." Anakin raked his short-cropped hair, then drew himself up. He was a man, damn it! Not some squirmy little Padawan! The sooner Obi-Wan and the Council realized he was man and accepted this, the better. _Padmé_ saw it, didn't she? He was _married_, that would show them—but of course he could not tell them.

"I felt I could break through her shields, Master," said Anakin.

Obi-Wan's face twitched skeptically. "I do not recall striking the face to be the first step."

"Oh—" His face flushed. "That—I lost control." Better to admit some wrong. "I just—I could not stand to listen to her lie, or—or disparage Pa—Senator Amidala."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Anakin noticed they looked a little bloodshot, and the weariness suddenly became apparent on the older man's face. "You cannot use loss of control as an excuse for your actions. A Jedi—"

"Jedi don't lose control, I suppose?" Anakin bit out.

"No, they do," said Obi-Wan, gently but not sympathetically, "and they take responsibility for it."

_You don't understand!_ Again, Anakin wanted to scream his thoughts, but kept his . . . control.

"I understand these past few weeks have been hard for you, Padawan. You are facing trials that do not test your physical skills as Jedi, but your heart. It is not weak to ask for help."

"I don't _need_ help." He stood up and moved to the far wall of the tiny cabin and crossed his arms, right shoulder against the bulkhead. Through the contact he could feel the ship's song as it streaked across the galaxy.

"We're going to Coruscant, aren't we?" he said, unable to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

Obi-Wan stood as well, looking more tired than he had after Geonosis. "Yes. The Council is expecting us."

"The Council."

"This matter has gone too far. Yoda already sensed it," Obi-Wan added quickly, probably sensing the angry protest Anakin felt in his throat.

"What? What did he _sense_?"

Obi-Wan looked away for a moment, and Anakin had a very bad feeling about it. Finally, his Master, grim-lipped, met his gaze Anakin. "The dark side. You used it Anakin. Used it on _another being_."

"I didn't . . ." The protest died on his lips. All too easily he heard the thundercrack of his lightsaber searing Tuskens in halves, heard their screams, felt the black, turbulent whirlwind that consumed him. He felt the liquid shine of the black oil ripple through his fingertips as he drove his will into the assassin. He could still feel her golden brown warmth filling him, as if he were breathing her essence in, her very _life_—

"You did not realize," Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin shook his head. He felt hot and itchy. Sunburned.

"Not knowing the power you were using does not excuse malicious intent."

"Master?" No, no, he would not sound panicked, he would not. _My intent was the same as Obi-Wan's, we had the same goal_, he told himself. It stood to reason.

"I want to help you, Anakin. The Council will want to investigate your actions. I will stand by you—as your Master and friend—but I cannot defend you. But I will help you."

_I don't NEED your help! I'm not a boy!_ But Anakin only nodded. "You told the Council," he bit out.

Obi-Wan should've sighed and run a hand through his hair, Anakin thought, but he didn't. He merely stood there, arms at his sides, looking intensely tired but firm.

"I had to, Padawan," he said quietly.

"Couldn't we sort this quietly?"

The frown deepened, if possible. "We _were_."

Anakin gritted his teeth. Fine. _Fine_. He messed up. He should've kept calm until Obi-Wan was resting,_then_ he should've taken a turn at interrogating the assassin. Then he would not be in this mess. He could've calmly forced her will, and if she said anything incriminating, well, Obi-Wan would not be around to hear it.

_A Jedi does not dwell on should haves_.

"All right," Anakin said, throat tight. "What do we do now?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "_You_ are going to meditate, young one. You will also not enter the cargo hold or do anything to interfere with Sabé. Do you understand?"

His artificial hand clenched at those words. "Why do say her name?"

Obi-Wan blinked, thrown. "It is her name."

"She tried to _kill_ me."

"I am fully aware of that."

"So, then _why_?"

"Anakin," and here Obi-Wan sounded a touch exasperated, "that has nothing to do with her name. Do not think for a single moment I have forgotten what she tried to do! She attempted murder, yes. That is not an invitation for my sympathy, if that is what you're afraid of."

Anakin looked away. Why was he trying to accuse Obi-Wan of anything? It was bad enough he'd told the Council; he didn't need another reason to be upset.

"Now," said Obi-Wan, "do I have your word you will meditate, refrain from entering the hold or interfering with Sabé in any way?"

He waited just enough to show thought and consideration, then nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Good. If you'll excuse me."

"Where're you going?"

Obi-Wan sighed and turned slightly. "If you will take a moment to listen, you will hear the damage you have done."

Now that he expanded his senses beyond his own little realm of the cabin, Anakin could hear the faint sounds of . . . crying? No, it was more of sob or choked scream, like someone having a terrible nightmare . . . It reminded him too much of his mother's cries that brought him to Tatooine—

Obi-Wan turned away, but Anakin still read the look in his eyes. _Look what you've done_. The door closed behind the Jedi's back, leaving Anakin in silence. He could still hear her if he listened, but Anakin did not want to listen.

* * *

It was one of the worst hyperspace journeys Obi-Wan could remember. When the Lorian had emerged into real space to switch runs, the Temple had rerouted them around the Separatists' latest strike. Apparently the Trade Federation and Count Dooku wanted to convey to the galaxy they were serious about this war. Even without the disruption, the journey seemed to stretch longer than it should. Only the tense journey from Coruscant to Naboo ten years ago compared to the taut silence between Obi-Wan and Anakin. But what could he say? What could he do?

Obi-Wan wearily rubbed his eyes and face as he sat on the cargo hold floor. He needed to sleep soon, but he dared not.

The Jedi Knight glanced down at the still, curled figure under his robe. The bruising had gone down. But would it be enough? Obi-Wan stared at Sabé's momentarily quiet form, unable to dispose of his grim fear. Yes, the bruising had gone down, but what did it leave behind? He only risked tentatively searching her through the Force, but she felt too tender for him to prod further. It seemed cruel to leave her on the floor like this, but allowing her the cabin bed would undoubtedly not sit well with Anakin. Not that Anakin should be coddled, but the situation was just too delicate to agitate Anakin any further.

Sighing, Obi-Wan rested his head against the bulkhead, thinking on the seemingly endless hours transpiring in the small ship. The silence was too intense, yet he could only break it with small, functional words. Anakin refused to speak about it, and Obi-Wan felt uneasy about pushing the Padawan too far. At least he could be certain Anakin was uncomfortable whenever Sabé cried out. Disturbed, more like. It meant he could be reached. And yet . . . as Obi-Wan studied her hollowed cheeks, he wondered just how this would affect Anakin. Outwardly it depended on the damage done. If she did not recover, Anakin was no doubt expelled from the Order, and Obi-Wan did not wish to think of the consequences there. But even if Sabé's mind was still intact, the damage to Anakin had been done, the actions still remained. It depended on the Council, Anakin's cooperation and behavior.

It was, quite simply, a mess of things.

The Jedi shivered and tried to blame it on the ship's environmental system and his lack of robe. Anakin had not looked happy when Obi-Wan had surrendered his robe to a trembling Sabé. That was just too bad. He'd have to deal with it. Obi-Wan had explained it bluntly. Anakin's fate may very well ride on Sabé's condition, and Obi-Wan did not want hear any complaints over helping her.

Obi-Wan's frown deepened as Sabé's smooth brow knitted again and her eyelids tightened. Her breaths began to tighten into shallow gasps as she shifted, clearly in pain.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, straightening up. Did he have enough strength to help her again? If, indeed, he was helping at all. Obi-Wan smiled derisively at himself. What sort of Jedi was he? It did not matter if he was too exhausted. The Force was not.

Just as he was reaching into his reserve, she moaned out a soft, "No." Obi-Wan paused, his heart and stomach switching places. Could it be? Or was it just hope? Incoherent monosyllables could sound a lot like 'no'. Reaching through the Force, Obi-Wan cautiously absorbed her presence, and battled a tight, sharp hope in his chest.

Painfully tender and obviously in agony, he could feel her familiar presence rising through it. This felt like a nightmare, not whatever tortured state Anakin put her in. Was it possible? Was she still Sabé somewhere in there, fighting her way out? Or was this just another stage, another inner hell?

"_No . . . no, please!"_

Obi-Wan sucked in a shaky breath. "Please, Force, let this be good," he muttered as sweat beaded her forehead. Should he ease the nightmare or let it unfold? Sometimes the mind needed to work it out on its own. The bruising was down, he could sense—dare he think it?—a consciousness somewhere under it. Interfering now could set her back . . .

She began to plead quietly, her voice rising as her breaths shortened. Obi-Wan shifted around as she started to thrash, adopting an alert, kneeling position. Tears seeped from her squeezed eyelids as she cried out in pain.

"Sabé," Obi-Wan said gently. The Force shifted as her attack heightened. "Sabé. It's all right."

"_No! Stop . . . please . . ."_

He sensed Anakin's approach just before the Padawan called out thickly, "What's going on?"

Obi-Wan only half-turned to see Anakin just barely peeking his head into the hold. He opened his mouth to sharply reprimand the boy, but stopped. Anakin was not, technically, in the hold, and although his face was very closed (a new skill he seemed to have picked up), the turmoil showed clearly in his eyes.

"I think it's a nightmare," said Obi-Wan. He tried to keep his tone gentle, but his throat was too tight, too strained. "You best return to the cockpit or the cabin, Anakin."

Anakin nodded after a moment and disappeared.

Obi-Wan had little time to think about Anakin's momentary obedience as Sabé's cries intensified and she twisted around his robe. "Sabé," he said, reaching out to touch her forehead. She jerked her head from his touch, then stilled as it lulled back against his fingertips. Despite her ashen cheeks, her skin burned under his touch. "Come on, Sabé," Obi-Wan whispered, pushing dark, tangled hair away from her face so he could read it.

She seemed to be calming, her brow smoothing as her breath evened through chapped lips. The nightmare seemed to be passing. He shifted back a little and rubbed at his weary eyes again. Was this good?

Then she jerked and cried out again, thrashing more violently than before.

"Sabé!" Obi-Wan snatched a flailing wrist before it cracked against a bulkhead. She was going to injure herself. He winced against the searing pain rolling off her in the Force and, just for a second, considered calling Anakin for help. Grabbing her other wrist, Obi-Wan tried to restrain her thrashing, but it must have sent her into a panic. She screamed and wrenched out of his grasp, one hand clawing at his tunic as the other thumped against the wall.

"Easy, Sabé, easy," Obi-Wan soothed, ignoring the sharp pain of her nails finding purchase just belong his neck. She let out a raw scream and jerked violently, her body shooting up as her eyes flew open. Obi-Wan grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her.

Everything froze. Wide, dark bloodshot eyes stared back him, glossy and unfocused. She trembled in his grasp, breaths coming too fast, too shallow, her pulse erratic. She looked dead. A rag doll, head lolling to the side. Nothing flickered behind her eyes as she stared straight at him, unseeing, caught somewhere beyond him.

Obi-Wan fought his rising panic and focused intensely. "Sabé," he said quietly, firmly. "Sabé. It's Obi-Wan. _Sabé."_

Nothing.

"_Sabé."_

Something flickered. Or was it a trick of the light?

"Sabé?"

Those large, dark eyes seemed to focus on him. Obi-Wan held his breath, sickened as time seemed to stretch on. Something gold seemed to flicker behind those deadened eyes and her lips moved soundlessly.

"Sabé?" he tried softly, again.

She stared for another moment, then her lips moved again with her breath._Obi-Wan?_ He felt a nauseating rush of possible relief. Had she said his name? Did she recognize him? The weakened muscles in her right arm tensed under his grip as she slowly lifted a trembling hand, the other still clenching the V of his tunics. He dared not breathe, afraid she would shatter at any moment. Physically or mentally, it did not matter. Her fingertips stretched toward his face, as if, perhaps to confirm his existence. Just as he could almost feel them brush his cheek, her eyes flickered again and she dropped her hand, jerking out of his hold, gasping and clutching her head.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Everything hit too fast. The swirling, dark turmoil of pain, her only awareness, gradually eased its pulsing under soft, white-gold warmth. Then the nightmare—only it hadn't been a nightmare—and this acute, screaming reality and him—the warmth, the white gold—he was real, those fastening blue eyes were real, and then she knew, then she could measure, and then the physicality jerked her and the nightmare darkened because it was real—

Sabé hissed, cradling her pounding head. It had been real—it _was_ real. The slashing saber still burned through her, the screams still rattled her lungs, and Skywalker's eyes bled red. And his voice, throbbing, raw and bloodied from pain and hate, still raged through her mind.

" . . . Sabé . . ."

Obi-Wan.

Instinct warred in her. The only comfort . . . warmth and tranquility, soothing. But no, she must not forget herself, she must grasp—but it _hurt_.

"Sabé?"

She breathed shallowly, trying to stave the pain, trying to calm down. Grasp, latch—steady, steady. The hold—Skywalker—agony—how much time?—Force, it _hurt_!

"Sabé . . . Are you all right?"

His voice, so tentatively spoken, clambered through her ears, rattling her bruised head. She winced. Reach out through the Force—hide from it? Squint—let it in slowly. She was on the floor, tangled in something, still in the hold with Obi-Wan kneeling beside her.

"Sabé? How . . . how do you feel?"

Something lit.

"Like someone took a blaster to my head," Sabé gritted out, turning toward Obi-Wan. "How do you _think_?"

Something akin to relief flashed in his eyes. "At least you're in good humor."

She managed a glare before knitting at her forehead, as if to force the pain out with her fingertips. Focus, focus . . . pulsating, burning, Skywalker—no, the hold, hostage, _cold—_Obi-Wan, he was speaking, but it hurt to listen, to process his constrained, level words. Focus—the here and the now, so one could reach the future, so actions and consequences could be taken and accounted. Yes. But she was so cold, and the white-gold had been so warm . . .

"Here."

Sabé blinked and lifted her head as Obi-Wan, so close—closer than she'd realized—reached toward her, tugging on something entangled with her. It felt familiar, warm, as he pulled it up around her shivering shoulders. She could only stare, numb with chill even as the nightmare still burned inside. Obi-Wan paused, his hands at her shoulders, perhaps feeling the cold.

Or searching.

She suddenly saw before, her hand reaching for his face, and jerked away. Pressing her back into the far corner, she pulled the comforting cloth tightly around, tucking her knees up and locking her arms around them. Defensive. Fetal. But she could not think of anything else, could not do anything else until her wits returned, until she could breathe properly. Behind her tangled hair, she peeked the Jedi watching her intently. No. Obi-Wan looked wretched. Older and weary, his eyes greyer, his frown formless and lost. She could see them kneeling at the reactor pit. Just them, no slain Jedi Master, nothing. Obi-Wan kneeling, lost in time and place, lost within and without. Or was that her? And he was just there, silent and waiting?

She looked away and shivered again.

"Sabé—"

"How long?" she croaked.

"Sorry?"

She stared across the hold, away from him. "How long?"

Sabé sensed Obi-Wan shift. "Days."

The word passed tentatively through her mind, soaking into her consciousness. She let her eyes fall to her brown-cloaked knees, easing the strain of processing even a blank wall. The tried, clipped voice of her training admonished her lack of focus, her inability to assess herself. No—her _fear_. Did Skywalker break her shields? She could not tell. Focus and searching, simply dipping inward would answer that. But it hurt too much. Too many things—and not all her own (and those were enough).

Sabé focused on the physical warmth, the thing Obi-Wan had wrapped around her. It spoke of security, somehow reminiscent of the glowing solvent of bloodied darkness. Brown, deceptively refined material . . . a cloak. Obi-Wan's. She pulled herself in tighter, at once conflicted. Should she be comforted by this, and why did it bother her?

"Sabé," said Obi-Wan, quietly. "I need you to tell me what happened."

She looked slightly toward him. "Don't you know?"

Obi-Wan sighed and rake his disheveled hair. "I feel I know less and less every minute."

"But you should not reveal such to me," Sabé said. "The interrogator should always seem confident."

"I'm not interrogating you, Sabé," said Obi-Wan.

Sabé turned away, distinctly uncomfortable from the sad way he looked at her. A pall descended, pressing against her throbbing temples. Finally, Obi-Wan spoke again. "Honestly, are you all right?"

Sabé did not answer. Was she all right? Minus the nausea, the pain, the bewilderment? Could she be all right after . . . whatever that had been? Were her shields intact? And what of Skywalker? Where was he?

Obi-Wan inhaled to ask again.

"Why do you care?" she snapped. "What difference does it make?"

"I do. A great deal." Obi-Wan's eyes were intent and guarded. "Anakin—"

"Yes." Sabé clenched her jaw. "Of course. My welfare matters because it affects his culpability."

"Well, yes—no—that is not—" Obi-Wan turned away, strangely looking like the Jedi Padawan she'd first known. When he faced her again, she could only discern concern and strain in his controlled expression. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

The question certainly intended present context. Yet Sabé recalled his earlier tactic for her cooperation. She wished she did not feel so vulnerable, that her only security was his damn Jedi cloak. Nor did she want this urge to curl or burrow against where the white-gold light was, and at the same time find a blaster to obliterate every horrible image and feeling from Skywalker out of her mind.

"Water," she said hoarsely.

"Of course." Obi-Wan stood, a hint of weary stiffness showing through Jedi-trained grace. He was gone before the meaning of it hit her.

Alone.

Unprotected.

Sabé pressed as far into the rounded corner as possible and laid her cheek against the cool metal. She should berate the glacial fear freezing her spine, should be preparing herself for Skywalker's hostile entry. Obi-Wan's robe would be little help. But she could not. Every nerve was frayed, and she would probably faint from the excruciating pain if not for sheer unwillingness to succumb.

_Hurry, Obi-Wan_.

He reappeared not a moment too soon, and she felt sick with relief and dread. Sabé lifted her head and tried to smooth her face emotionless as Obi-Wan knelt down again and produced more than a water flask. The hot, liquid aroma of broth wafted from her soup canister, and Sabé recognized the folded tunic and trousers.

Obi-Wan held out the water flask, and Sabé slipped her hands through the robe opening, pausing as it dawned on her. No manacles. She looked at Obi-Wan and he gave a slight, humorless smile. "They were rendered unnecessary."

Sabé took the flask and drank deeply. The cool liquid lacked any purging affect, but her dry throat ceased scratching. When she finished, Obi-Wan replaced it with the broth, and she sipped carefully. It was not a comfortable situation. Her head ached and she felt weak and self-conscious under Obi-Wan's watchful gaze, and she just wanted to know what the hell was going on. Where was Skywalker? Had he broken her shields? Was there even the remote possibility of salvaging this disaster?

"How's the broth?" Obi-Wan asked after a minute or so passed in silence.

Sabé only flicked a glance his way. It was broth.

"Right," said Obi-Wan. "No small talk."

Sabé hid a smirk behind another sip. Then she kneaded her forehead again.

"You're in pain."

"And I wonder why that is?" She knew she was being difficult, and Obi-Wan did not necessarily deserve her tongue, but honestly, what did he expect?

"I can help you," said Obi-Wan, leaning forward slightly. "With the pain."

Sabé stiffened.

"I won't hurt you," he said quietly.

She said nothing but set her jaw. Her shields—she should reinforce her shields. But did she have them anymore? Perhaps she should do the simplest thing: ask.

"Did it work?" she whispered.

Obi-Wan gave her an odd look, as if the question disturbed him somehow.

"Did it work?" she repeated.

"I . . . don't know," said Obi-Wan, scratching at his beard.

"How do you not know? You were there when that ill excuse for a Padawan attacked me, and I've been lying here for days—how can you not know?"

Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted to stand and pace, but felt obliged to remain on the floor with her. "What do you think Anakin tried to do?"

"Break my shields and my will," she shrugged, covering a shudder with another sip.

Obi-Wan nodded, and she wondered if he expected to glean information from the shadowy-thing on his chin. "Your will seems intact," he said lightly. He frowned, his usually clear gaze mottled. "As for your shields, I cannot say. When you were, ah, _asleep_, I did not want to inflict more damage. You seemed to be in enough pain already."

Sabé looked away.

"I can help the pain," he said again. "I promise you, Sabé, I do not want to hurt you."

She refused to look at him. For a long moment, Obi-Wan was very still; then he sighed quietly and sat down beside her, back resting against the bulkhead, and she knew without looking his shoulders sagged. "Am I right to assume you do not wish to talk about what happened?" he half-muttered. Then she could feel his gaze on her. "But I also assume you're burning to know the present way of things."

Again, she refused to answer, but he seemed to expect it. "Very well. We are on our way to Coruscant. War is unfortunately truly upon us, and Count Dooku and the Separatists have already attacked the Hydian Way, thus extending this cheerful journey home."

Coruscant. Sabé set down the soup canister, feeling sick. They were bound for the Jedi Temple.

"Sabé," Obi-Wan said softly, and she could detect a hint of plea, compelling her eyes to find him. "Can you tell me what happened in the hold? The first time?"

The memory sent a shudder down her spine and she looked away again. She wanted to refuse, but desperation pulled at Obi-Wan's eyes and mouth. He needed to know.

"I . . . I don't know exactly," she said quietly. "It felt like he was sucking the life out of me. I thought I died." And she shivered again.

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, then urged tentatively. "And this time?"

Sabé shook her head—and immediately regretted it. Sucking in a tight breath, she pressed her palms against her temples, wishing she could reach deep inside to the source. Again and again, his lightsaber slashed, ferocious and hateful, wielding death as an echo of something darker, something worse filled her ears. Would it ever go away? Did it even matter?

"Sabé . . . Sabé, please . . ." Obi-Wan gently took her wrists, pulling her hands away. The mystifying mixture of safety and vulnerability clouded her, momentarily distracting. "You've seen into Anakin, haven't you? What did you see?"

She closed her eyes and turned away.

"Please—"

"It hurts."

"Then let me ease it."

It was another battle of wills. She knew it, felt it. But to what end? And whose will? It all swam with searing nausea. _I just want this to end_, she thought—her only clear thought—and then she felt asphyxiated by a surmounting urge to sob. But, no, that could not be allowed; she gritted her teeth against it.

"Sabé." Fingertips brushed against her right cheek, turning her toward him. "Let me help you," Obi-Wan insisted, and here his eyes were clear. "I won't hurt you. I will not touch your shields. I promise. You can trust me."

She should refuse, she knew, but it just hurt too much, and she yearned for the balm she could sense at his touch. Throat closed and heart pounding, Sabé met Obi-Wan's gaze and nodded. Relief flooded his face but quickly disappeared under concentration as he placed his hands on either side of her temples, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. She shivered as warm tingles danced over her skin. Obi-Wan's eyes softened before deepening and turning inward, and then she felt it, a thawing sway in the Force. At first she just let it wrap around her, a soothingly warm but cooling cloak over her burn. Her eyes closed as it seeped through her skin.

When she realized Obi-Wan was keeping to his word, Sabé reached into the blessed white-gold that was both the Force and Obi-Wan and pulled it inward. The pain lessened and she could distinguish the bruising in her center, the sharpest pain. She felt intact. Battered, but intact. But she would have to work on this wound later, on her own, and maybe then she could be flush of Skywalker's infection.

She floated near the surface, in this borrowed gift. Just as she began to relax into it, an alarm shot into her and she felt it—_him_. With a jerk and gasp, she snapped out of the trance and every nerve in her screamed to flee.

Obi-Wan, one hand still cradling her cheek, swiveled around as she pressed her back into the bulkhead.

Anakin Skywalker stood in the threshold, fists at his sides, his expression tight and unreadable.

"Anakin," said Obi-Wan, low and controlled. "You are not to enter."

Tiny, little fearful breaths. She was a cornered animal. The fear had to be conquered. She mustn't show fear.

"I know, Master. I just . . . needed to see how things were proceeding."

Shaking, a sign of fear. Must stop shaking. But the nightmare raged to life before her, the nightmare that was not a nightmare.

"Is she all right?"

Then she felt it, a flame burning in the ash he'd left. "You," she whispered, rising to her feet. "You killed them. All of them. They _screamed_ and you just slaughtered them!" Skywalker went white, gaping, as if contrasting himself against the blood splattered beast ravaging through her and those before.

_I should have pulled the trigger. At the wedding. _"How could she?" Sabé wondered aloud, staring at him, disbelief at all she had already known on a lower level. "How could she_marry_ you?"

Skywalker gripped the threshold and Obi-Wan spun to her, shocked. _"What?"_

"Shut up," Skywalker growled, but it came weak and sick.

Disgust rose in her, the flame rising over her fear. "She knew, didn't she? She knew you murdered them and _she married you!_"

"Shut ­_up_." Skywalker's hands clenched and unclenched, clearly wishing to strangle her.

"I just can't beli—"

"SHE UNDERSTANDS!" he screamed and punched the threshold.

Silence, punctuated only by Skywalker's shallow, desperate breathing as he pressed his forehead against the corridor wall. Sabé stood, forcing herself not to sway with dizziness, clasping tightly to this flame. It was Obi-Wan who spoke, shattering the silence with a tight, emotionless voice.

"You and Senator Amidala are married."

Skywalker raised his head and somewhere mustered the fortitude to face Obi-Wan. "Yes."

"I see." Another long pause. "You are aware the Jedi Code forbids it."

"Yes." Skywalker looked petulantly defiant. "I love her."

"Yes. I know. But the Co—"

"Don't preach to me about the Code, Obi-Wan!" Skywalker's momentary control vanished as he stepped into the threshold, eyes raw and shining as if he would burst into tears. "You've never been in love! You nothing about it!"

"No, Anakin." Sabé looked at Obi-Wan, as something she'd never heard before knotted his voice. "I have. But I am a Jedi."

Sabé could not see his face, since he stood between her and Skywalker, but she could almost feel the severe restraint that must be there. A fist closed over his heart. Skywalker merely looked agape, skeptical.

"Who?"

"It does not matter," said Obi-Wan coolly, taking a step forward. "Explain what Sabé meant by murder."

Skywalker flashed Sabé a dark, hideous look, yet faltered when he looked back at Obi-Wan. His ungloved hand fidgeted with the hatch latch. "She's delusional."

"And if that be the case, whose fault is that?" The hold rang with Obi-Wan's sharp words and he crossed his arms. "You are in a very, very precarious position, Anakin. You are lying. It will make it worse for you. Complete honesty is the only way to proceed here."

Skywalker did not answer for a long moment, staring down at his feet. When he finally lifted his head, wretched pain and grief were his defense. "The Tuskens. They killed Mom. Tortured her. She _died_ in my _arms_!"

Sabé swayed as the nightmare roared up again, and she leaned back against the bulkhead.

"And so you murdered them."

"They tortured her!"

"You sought revenge. You killed."

"_I didn't know what I was doing! I couldn't stop myself!"_ Skywalker was wild, frenzied and desperate, gesturing frantically. _"I just lost control!"_

"Like in the hold?" Obi-Wan said coldly.

Skywalker swallowed, his eyes darting everywhere. "Y-yes."

Ice filled the hold, freezing the silence. Finally Obi-Wan, rigid, spoke. "I suggest you use this time to meditate. On control. On revenge. On what it means to be a Jedi."

For a long moment, Skywalker did not move. Then he nodded and disappeared into the corridor, his sudden absence a momentary vacuum. Obi-Wan remained still, frozen. Sabé dared not breathe. When he finally moved, he staggered slightly into a lost sort of pace. He glanced at her, unseeing, and she realized with a sickening drop in her gut how much exhaustion he'd hidden from her and how much it'd cost him to soothe her pain. Now Obi-Wan seemed unable to tolerate her presence as he digested his Padawan's grievances. He found the far bulkhead and collapsed against it, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. Then he stilled, staring blankly into nothingness.

Sabé pressed her palms against the cool wall, watching him helplessly. _I should've pulled the trigger on Naboo. _It was Qui-Gon's death all over again, only worse. Unable to help, unable to reach him, she could only whisper, "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan stirred but barely looked at her, unreadable. Then he turned and staggered out of the hold, leaving her in ice. Sabé stood motionless for a long moment, then pulled his robe tightly around her and sank slowly to the floor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Usually upon real-spacing into Coruscant's arrival sector after a long, trying mission, Obi-Wan Kenobi knew he should feel as if he'd never been so relieved to see the glittering, metallic planet. Sitting behind Anakin in a crash seat, Obi-Wan could only contemplate the ill sensation in his stomach. Yes, relief was to be felt. The long journey from the Outer Rim to Coruscant, logistically fraught, should've ushered anticipation for his feet to be on solid permacrete again. Unfortunately, solidity formed impending doom. Probably.

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard, watching silently as Anakin studiously reset the Lorian's engines for planetary approach and monitored the information from Coruscant traffic control. A Jedi signature allowed them express clearance, but guidelines still existed and their passage could not be disruptive to the million-count traffic flickering all around the system. Of course, Obi-Wan admitted grimly, Anakin's diligence had nothing to do with air traffic regulations (which he merrily bypassed on occasion).

Tension hummed along Anakin's broad but lanky frame, pitching the line of his bent neck. The strain between them was palpable, calling for an ancient knife-slicing truism. If only it were that easy, Obi-Wan thought.

The journey's last leg after Sabé awoke could not be called progressive, yet Obi-Wan felt the ship was already running on too much pessimism to label it regressive. Sabé's revelation had a controlling effect on Anakin. Never could Obi-Wan recall such obedience since Anakin's early days. His apprentice had meditated and emerged in a strange, almost unnatural calm. It did not feel quite right, everything in his presence felt too taut, but Anakin had answered Obi-Wan's questions. Short answers, yes, but answers nonetheless. The worse part of finally getting some truth out of his Padawan set Obi-Wan in a twisted, awkward position. The facts were grotesque and appalling; with all his heart, he did not want to believe them. But the pain, unable to be completely buried, wrenched at the Jedi Knight. It did not feel right to fling himself on either side of the matter, yet this vacillation disturbed Obi-Wan. Compromise was one thing, as was an open mind, but this unwillingness was unbecoming a Jedi and a great failure on his part.

And somehow he'd failed Anakin. It was too arrogant to say Anakin's failure was entirely Obi-Wan's fault, but the Jedi knew he accounted for some of it. The responsibility to train Anakin had been his, but maybe, Obi-Wan thought, maybe he should not have fought the Council for it. He had been too young, too inexperienced, and Anakin was too old, had experienced too much.

The heaviness grew on Obi-Wan, as if part of Coruscant's strengthening gravity as the Lorian drew nearer. The planet was now an easily observed sphere in a cloud of starship running lights and emissions. Although he yearned for this journey's end, Obi-Wan did not mind the possibility of exploding in space before they reached the Jedi Temple.

Sometimes the easiest solution really was the best.

Obi-Wan stood quietly, pushing the dark notion away. Anakin acknowledged the movement with a slight turn of his head, but remained focused on the viewscreen and piloting. Obi-Wan left him to it and headed aft to check on Sabé.

_Out of the gundark nest into the sarlaac pit,_ he thought wryly.

The situation with Sabé was a little lighter, if only because she had not succeeded in killing Anakin. That was the only good thing out of this ugly mess. Obi-Wan paused in the corridor, his old friend trepidation pressing a little more. He'd left Sabé alone after the . . . incident with Anakin. What would he find now? Earlier he'd caught a glimpse of her slipping between the fresher and the hold, but he had not been inclined to follow. Now he chided his neglect. The living Force all but nagged at him concerning Sabé. Around her he felt an undeniable pull. Maybe it was the bottled pain he felt when she could not hide it, or maybe he felt if he could help her, he could help Anakin. Hope, that was it.

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling her presence in the Force before seeing her. It was familiar, more so than recently. She was very much alive, though unsettled and sore. The fact he could sense this much had to be due to the damage Anakin had done to her shields, for Obi-Wan doubted Sabé would willingly leave herself even remotely open to him. A pang hit his chest as he remembered the young woman on Naboo, guarded and cool in disguise, but smiling mischievously at him at the ball, friendliness and goodwill fairly bubbling over her self-control.

_What happened to you, Sabé? _Obi-Wan silently wondered as he entered the hold and stopped abruptly.

Sabé paused and turned in mid-pace, the movement smooth and controlled. No surprise showed in her dark eyes; she obviously sensed him in the corridor. She seemed to be standing taller than he remembered, perhaps before she had been too weak. Obi-Wan tried not to stare, but he was at a complete loss of what to do. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Too much. Sabé stared back, looking healthier in the fresh tunic and trousers he'd found in a cabin compartment (no doubt hers), and she had untangled all that long, dark brown hair and tied it back. Yet she was still unnaturally pale, the circles around her eyes too deep. The shadows only emphasized what troubled Obi-Wan the most: a lack of defiance. Instead of glaring or studying him keenly, Sabé regarded him with almost passive reserve, as if she did not care for her fate.

Or maybe it was just her usual mask of cold apathy, and it only looked worse?

"We're approaching Coruscant," said Obi-Wan. He had to say something. It might as well be informative.

Sabé said nothing, but Obi-Wan caught a slight drop in her eyes. His sense of her lessened, as if she were consciously raising her shields, tightening her emotions. Perhaps the act was no longer so instinctive.

"You will be taken to the Temple," Obi-Wan continued quietly. "I do not exactly know what will happen there."

Although she did not look surprised by their destination, something wavered in Sabé, slipping through her trained stoicism. Was it uncertainty that concerned her, or the Jedi Temple itself? Obi-Wan could easily see why someone who attempted murder on a Jedi would fear entering their complete custody.

"The Jedi will not harm you," he said, "but I am sure the Council will be firm and persistent in questioning you." He paused. "How are you feeling?"

An eyebrow twitched. "Imprisonment aside?" Obi-Wan nodded. Sabé glanced away, then keenly met his gaze again. "When did you last sleep, Obi-Wan?"

Caught. Obi-Wan gave her a reproachful look, and then gave up. Sighing, he leaned against the bulkhead and palmed his face. There never was any point in pretending around her. "I'll rest at the Temple," he shrugged, ignoring her clear skepticism. _I will. I just don't know when or how much_.

"You shouldn't have done that," Sabé said quietly, looking away.

"Done what?"

Once, she might have thrown him a glare for it, but now she said dully, "You know what."

Obi-Wan straightened. "You were in pain, Sabé."

"You're exhausted. Drained." She still stared down, but lacked any determination behind the gesture.

"I'm fine." Obi-Wan stepped over to her, rather curious. "You should not be worrying about me."

Sabé raised her eyes, and Obi-Wan saw something pleading in them. "Nor should you be worrying about me." Then she turned away, placing distance between them, and Obi-Wan could not read her at all.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply. Of course he was worried! She was also right. Technically he should have little concern for her welfare, other than justice would be seen to and Anakin's predicament would be resolved. But so much was behind this. Not just the who and why of someone sending an assassin after Anakin, but the boggling fact it was _Sabé. _Even if she had not been such a good, if brief, friend all those years ago, he would still respond to her trouble.

Or would he?

Maybe some questions were best left unanswered. Besides, it was rhetorical, wasn't it?

"I can help you," was on the tip of his tongue, but Obi-Wan readjusted the question. "Please, Sabé. Who sent you?"

She turned in a hint of her old defiance, though her shoulders dropped. "No."

Frustration rose but he tried to stave it off. "Why? What hold does this person have over you?"

"I said no, Obi-Wan."

"But if you tell me, I can help you. You'll be pardoned."

"No!"

"But_why_?"

Sabé crossed her arms and set her chin, and while she looked defiant for it, Obi-Wan found little anger or spark in her stony expression. It would have been better. "I have my duty."

* * *

_I have my duty_.

Sabé watched Obi-Wan's departing back. The hatch door did not close quietly behind him, did not seal with a hiss. An open invitation. A nod to her predicament. _Let me help you_. But there could be no help. That was the point. The former handmaiden leaned against the cargo support pole she'd once been shackled to, concentrating on the cool metal against the right of her forehead. Her eyes remained on the door, open and beckoning, but she would not pass through it. Not until she had to.

_Let me help you_. She could still feel Obi-Wan in the hold, a second, tingling skin of awareness over her. Before he'd entered, she'd been pacing, working her mind as well as her body into a fitness to endure what would soon come. The Jedi Temple. Yoda. The next stage of her failure. Obi-Wan wanted to help her. Well, he could not. She couldn't even help herself if she wanted to. She had her duty. This was ridiculous, this wanting to help. Why did he want to help her?

"Stop it," she whispered. Shutting her eyes, she pressed her forehead harder against the pole, pushing until her senses were physical, her mind following the ship's turning keel. She breathed deeply, detecting the faint tang of recycled air, letting its treatment soothe her lungs, slipping into light meditation.

She had her duty. A weak argument perhaps, in such short words, but it went beyond simple obedience to Yoda. She failed him. But not further—no, she would not fail him again. Protect him and his secret, the secrets of the Jedi that, if known, would do more damage than she'd already done. Obi-Wan, out of some philanthropic insanity, wanted to help her. He could not, but she could protect him. Not that he mattered to her. He mattered to Yoda, and her duty was to him.

_What if it's not about duty anymore?_ She gripped the pole tightly, vainly squeezing the thought away. Pacing it off had not helped earlier. Maybe the argument was weak to some, but it did not matter. She would protect Yoda. Protecting people . . . she could do that.

Just stay here as long as possible, breathing with the ship's movement, the cold metal numbing her . . . Sinking inward while anchored by the pole, Sabé drew on the Force, pulling it around her weakened shields, buffering the painful residue of Anakin's assault. She saw Yoda's sad eyes as she knelt before him in the hidden chamber, felt the heaviness of his words. The gateway to the Force, to its depths of light and dark, and through his veil she glimpsed something inconceivable that could only be felt. She remembered this, but it was gauzy, soaked from a hemorrhaging wound. It was like Obi-Wan's eyes, absorbing Yoda and Anakin. Or was it blood on layers of white lace? Tuskens screamed as a campfire narrowed into a slashing blade, and Amidala, ice, turned away. The blood glowed and black, inky tendrils braided into it, and Yoda's eyes glistened and closed . . .

The cold pressure against her forehead pulled her up, and the ship's engines changed to a lower, gentler pitch. Her senses tingled and she breathed deeply, centering herself. Slowly she opened her eyes and raised her head.

Obi-Wan stood in the threshold, Jedi mask firmly in place. Yet, despite his situation, he seemed less severe than as Padawan. Surely the burden was worse now than ever. Were his shoulders just more able to bear it? Maybe he'd found a balance. She thought she had, so long ago, but . . .

Sabé bit the inside of her cheek, checking herself. No.

"We're landing," Obi-Wan said quietly. Sabé stared silently back, not to be obstinate, but what was there to say? After a moment, he said, "So I'll need my robe back."

Startled, she glanced down. She'd forgotten. When she'd changed, she had folded it up and set it aside, but the chill in her bones had snatched it up again. It was a couple inches too long, but she grown accustomed to it, could even pace in it. A functional, simple robe, yet she had the wild urge not to relinquish it. Ridiculous. Sabé crossed the small hold to Obi-Wan, wiping any emotion from her face, not allowing her dread to show. It might not be cold, after all. She paused, staring. Wondering. What was she trying to see there? Surely she was seeking comfort or reassurance. Nor could she want him to question her again. Then she could see it, them, years ago in the palace corridor, saying good-bye. A little unwilling; he, because pain and a daunting future awaited him, and she, because . . . It did not matter.

Sabé blinked and looked down, away from Obi-Wan's intense gaze. She shrugged out of his robe, only looking up to hand it to him, the thick, brown material filling the space between them. "Thank you," she said softly.

Obi-Wan stared at her for a moment, and she forced herself to meet him unflinchingly. A strange frown tugged at his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, grey with fatigue. She felt a vicious wrenching in her chest and gut. _I did this. I did this to him_. Obi-Wan seemed to be struggling with something as he reached for his robe, lowering his head a little toward her, perhaps sensing her unsteadiness . . .

"You're welcome," he said, so quiet she barely caught it. Still he did not pull the robe from her grasp, still studying her, his presence overwhelming, a sensation left from healing . . .

Sabé parted her lips, feeling maybe an apology forming there, though she could not remember the words, when the ship bumped softly beneath their feet.

Obi-Wan blinked and straightened up, tugging his robe from her. Sabé stepped back as he shrugged into it. Empty and sick, she heard him mutter, "I need sleep."

Landed. Numb, she needed to be numb to this. To Obi-Wan, to herself, to everything. It was then she noticed her heart's erratic gallop. She looked away from Obi-Wan and breathed deeply again, commanding her nerves to quiet. The ship's engines whined down and the pressurizer hissed. She could feel him watching her again.

"Sabé," said Obi-Wan. He looked apologetic as he reached for the wrist manacles on his belt.

She stared at the binders. "You think I might try to escape."

"No."

Appearances had to be kept. Bland-faced, she held her wrists out for him. Obi-Wan, sorry and frowning, gently locked her wrists together, his fingertips sending little spikes up her arms. He held her limp hands for a moment, staring down, as if unable to believe it. She could feel his fingertips curving into her palms, his thumbs on the top of her hands. Warm but wrong.

"Obi-Wan?"

He looked up, and she could clearly see it. How did it come to this? She could see him riddling through his memories up until now, trying to find the answer. He _needed_ it. Badly. But she could not give it to him.

"Sabé, I—"

"Master."

Obi-Wan dropped her hands as Skywalker stepped into the narrow corridor from the cockpit. Sabé fought the urge to step behind Obi-Wan. The fear still bit along her spine. Skywalker's entire presence clenched like a fist.

"They're waiting for us," he said, sounding dead.

"Yes," said Obi-Wan. He stepped toward Skywalker. "Are you ready, Anakin?"

Skywalker did not answer, but turned away and opened the external hatch. A gust of Coruscant wind pushed his cloak back as he disappeared into the metallic daylight. Obi-Wan gestured for Sabé to precede him, and he fell into step behind her. Sabé paused at the hatch, her eyes adjusting to the light, and took a deep, steadying breath she knew Obi-Wan heard.

How did it come to this?

"You can still bargain," said Obi-Wan, just over her shoulder.

Sabé raised her chin and set her shoulders, and stepped off without preamble. High Coruscant wind whipped the loose bits of her hair around, and she lamented not having enough proper fastenings. Ridiculous. Skywalker had stopped a few paces from the Lorian, waiting for them. She leveled him a steely look and made her back and shoulders as straight as possible. He smirked, clearly finding her attempt pathetic. Then his expression smoothed for Obi-Wan, and the friendless trio approached the small group of waiting Jedi.

Then it spired above her, extending from the landing platform, towering. The Jedi Temple, gleaming in the mid-day light, a jewel grinding down on her. She'd never seen the top spires so close before, had never seen the architectural artwork smoothly engraved in its exterior walls so close to the sky. Only down in its shadow or far away did she see it. An aircar cried overhead, swooping down to another platform. Sabé focused on the Jedi ahead, a hardness forming in her chest as she spotted Yoda, Master Windu, two Knights she could not be certain of, and a Padawan of about possibly fourteen. Each step seemed to stamp thought and emotion out of her. The end. Finally.

Obi-Wan and Skywalker bowed. The faces greeting them were grim, the Force moving, pressing, probing. Mace Windu's coal-like gaze narrowed, and she knew he was studying the lines he saw in the Force, probing her and Anakin, two volatile variables. Let him. She focused on Yoda without appearing so. Opening up to him would be a dead giveaway with Windu here, but she long communicated without the Force.

Yoda's eyes were almost unreadable. Obi-Wan's voice floated somewhere behind her ears as Yoda's right ear twitched and he refolded his hands over his cane. Really? Her left pinky curled and Yoda blinked. Sabé focused again on those speaking, now Master Windu. She had to do it, but it did not feel like a better alternative.

" . . . are willing to undergo the Council's questioning alone?" Mace Windu was saying to Skywalker.

"Yes, Master."

"Very well." Windu's cool gaze shifted to Sabé, then to Obi-Wan, and then settled on her again. She made herself opaque, impenetrable. His frown deepened almost imperceptibly. "You are Sabé Mabriee of Naboo?"

Sabé said nothing. She sensed Obi-Wan cross his arms behind her, could feel his weary frustration. "She does this," he said.

Windu stepped forward, an invisible wave of intimidation mounting with him, but it washed over Sabé. He looked her up and down, grim and displeased. Pure training kept her pulse from tripling under his keen, Force-enhanced sight. "Interesting," he finally said, and she swore his eyes flickered behind her. Then he stepped back. "You are to be taken into Jedi custody. Your cooperation is accepted."

Yoda's cane twitched.

Now. "I demand asylum on Naboo."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The wind whistled down the landing platform, whirling between the braced figures, whipping cloaks around in the thick sudden silence. Mace Windu and Yoda were impenetrable as Obi-Wan sensed surprise and dismay ripple through the little group. Obi-Wan clamped down his own surprise, though he wished he could see her face. Her slender shoulders were straight, set back, and he had no doubt she was meeting Windu's hard look with an icy glare. With only an inch or so between them, Obi-Wan could only sense her as stone, or glass. Hard and cold, yet a little grinding might break her.

"It is my right," said Sabé, cutting through the wind. "I claim homeworld asylum."

_She waits all this time, after we've come all this way, to invoke this?_Obi-Wan thought, barely acknowledging her loosely gathered hair brushing against his crossed arms. What could be her motive? Or was it a desperate act?

Master Windu never blinked. "That is understood. However, we will have to verify Naboo's sanctuary act—"

"As I have not actually murdered Skywalker and have been maltreated, my refuge claim needs approval by—"

"—sovereign or representative authority," finished Windu. He raised an eyebrow. "Senator Amidala."

"Yes."

Obi-Wan did not miss the slight hitch in her voice.

"She'll never grant it," said Anakin. He quickly fell silent under the Masters' eyes, his cheeks flushing as he looked down. Obi-Wan inwardly shook his head. This was a right mess. A Jedi Padawan married to a senator, whose former handmaiden tried to assassinate her newly wed husband and was now claiming asylum that needed to be approved by said senator.

Mace shot Anakin a quelling look, then turned back to Sabé. "If Senator Amidala does not grant you sanctuary, you will be officially under Jedi custody."

Sabé said nothing. The air stirred as a transport lifted from a nearby platform, carting Jedi away to some disruptive pocket of the universe. Chemical heat blurred the lines, yet no one noticed in this sharp, metallic point of meeting. Obi-Wan did not share Windu's talent for detecting the interconnecting lines of the living and unifying Force, but he could almost feel the tangled, trembling cracks threading through them. Here, spoken words were nothing more than fallible coating. They could not protect nor instigate, hide nor render. Mace and Sabé's words danced along the thin, vibrating cracks, agitating Anakin's strangled knot. They were all connected and tangled into one another—he, Mace, Sabé, Anakin, and Yoda—but Obi-Wan was not sure how, in such a tight, twisted way. Why should the living Force pull him into Sabé? Should not his only concern be Anakin? Mace and Yoda—they were in this because of Anakin's fate, surely, and yet the sharp, painful thread-dance swung through them . . .

Windu's eyes met Obi-Wan's again, but the Jedi Master revealed nothing in his emotionless gaze. He never did, and yet Obi-Wan felt uneasy.

_I'm tired. This is all getting to me_.

Windu looked to Sabé again. "Will you submit to a healer's examination?" he asked, his tone slightly less severe. Obi-Wan could feel her immediate refusal, and perhaps so did Windu. "This has nothing to do with your offense. You must understand, we need to know the extent of any injuries you may have sustained from Padawan Skywalker."

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin as he felt his apprentice's clench in the Force. Had it really happened? Had that really been his apprentice? _Did I really throw him?_ A sick feeling washed over him, and Anakin briefly met his eyes. Again, and with another ghost of a retch, Obi-Wan realized he could not read the emotions and thoughts in Anakin's face.

"I can refuse this," said Sabé, bringing Obi-Wan back. He noticed Yoda sigh, perhaps in resignation.

"You may," said Windu, "but reconsider."

"Did not Jedi Kenobi tell you?"

Jedi Kenobi. It jarred a little. Yet, Obi-Wan reasoned, it was appropriate. So why did it rankle so? He blinked, realizing Mace Windu was sending him subtle look of appeal.

"Sabé," he said quietly, stepping to her side. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, especially Anakin's, and Mace's eyes were two, coal pincers bearing down on them. Sabé, a still sliver in this Jedi net, merely turned her eyes to him, almost as unreadable as Yoda. But he could feel her without touching her, sense her weariness melding with his, the living Force shifting inexplicably between them. Fear and resignation reddened the corners of her eyes, tightened her lips, and pulled at the strings trapping her in this mess.

"We need your help," Obi-Wan said. "I have informed the Council as best I can, but they need your testimony as well." Across from him, Anakin shifted, unable to remain still as his own master clearly stated he was under trial. Obi-Wan knew he could soften his words for his Padawan's sake, but the fact of the matter remained, and no amount of cushioning would change what had happened. "And we would like to help you. Please."

_You shouldn't help me_. Her lips never moved, but Obi-Wan clearly heard the words as she silently turned her stare ahead. Dark lashes lowered briefly, and then she nodded.

"Good," said Windu. "T'lana will escort you to the healers. Padawan Skywalker, you will report immediately to the Council chambers. Eko and Padawan Ropjo will have a look at the ship."

Obi-Wan silently cursed. "I'm sorry, I left a satchel of things in the cabin—"

"Padawan Ropjo?" The bald, gray-skinned Padawan nodded, his slanted eyes flickering to Obi-Wan before he jogged over to the Lorian. He returned in less than a minute, handing the satchel over with a bow before slipping behind Knight Eko's shoulder again.

Then they were moving, but Obi-Wan felt removed from the reality of it. Or too far in it. Or maybe to the side . . . Force, he needed sleep, a few blank hours to let his mind rest before he could absorb any more of this. Anakin looked to him again, perhaps searching for comfort, some reassurance that Obi-Wan would be with him through this, that it would all turn out okay. But Obi-Wan had nothing to offer. Yes, instinct said to, but instinct did not comprehend. _He_ didn't comprehend.

The Temple swallowed them, immersing Obi-Wan in a tranquility he did not quite feel. No . . . the usual welcome-home rush had changed. Under the calm, the Temple buzzed, the Force shifted uneasily.

War.

Of course. He almost forgot.

Beside him, Sabé inhaled sharply, though no one else seemed to notice. She looked disturbed, shaken. Obi-Wan supposed experiencing the Temple's aura firsthand would have an effect on her, but her pained expression was unexpected. Should she not be in awe of the surge of communal power? She was wilting and trying to fight it, but he noticed the slight tuck of her bottom lip. Biting the inside of it, using sharp, physical pain as a grounder.

The group passed through the receiving lobby quietly, and Obi-Wan wondered if the Council had managed to keep this fiasco a secret. Padawan Ropjo's involvement revealed more about his advancement and respect than whether Temple gossip was under miraculous control. Yoda called his hover seat and floated gently beside the taller Jedi, still strangely silent. The Jedi Master was never one to mince words, but he seemed particularly stingy in all of Obi-Wan's communications with the Temple.

_No sense in being rash here_, Obi-Wan reasoned as they came to the lifts.

The lift to the Council chambers opened and Yoda floated in, gesturing for Anakin to follow. The Padawan looked back at Obi-Wan as he entered, and here Obi-Wan could definitely empathize. No one wanted to ride with Yoda to Council interrogation. The doors slid shut, and Obi-Wan ached to follow. _Things will never be the same_, he thought, _I just don't know if it's for better or worse._ He had a bad feeling it would be worst.

"Obi-Wan," Mace said quietly as T'lana moved Sabé further down to another set of turbolifts. She looked even smaller next to the tall, muscular Jedi Knight. "Obi-Wan."

Blinking, he turned to Mace and raised his eyebrows.

"You're tired," the Jedi Master said bluntly. "Have you even slept since Anakin was attacked?"

Obi-Wan smirked half-heartedly and rubbed the back of his neck, watching T'lana press for a lift, Sabé silent beside her. "You caught me," he muttered to Windu, but he saw Sabé's scolding look on the ship.

Windu gave him an arched brow. "You are to rest. Those are orders. I know it's the last thing you want to do, but it's for the best. There's nothing you can do for Anakin right now."

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to keep his eyes from drifting down the lift corridor. The door slid open and T'lana gestured for Sabé to enter. Awash in the soft, calming blues of the carpeting and walls of the wide, arched corridor, she seemed unmoving yet adrift in some strange, fabricated river. A ghostly imprint disappearing in the current . . . She looked across to Obi-Wan and he sucked in a tight breath at how similar she was to Anakin just then. Stepping into the lift, arrested to some captured fate—

"Master Windu," and Sabé disappeared into the lift, T'lana briefly filling her space before being swallowed by the tube, "I have to ask. How bad does it look for Anakin?" Even as he asked, he wanted to follow Sabé. He had to stay close to one of them.

Windu sighed, suddenly a person instead of some formidable, glossy pillar.

Glossy? Obi-Wan checked his fatigued brain.

"I cannot rightly say yet," said Mace. "I don't like to say it, but if it were any other Padawan, he would be suffering expulsion." He frowned deeply. "But . . ."

"This is Anakin," Obi-Wan finished.

"He's unprecedented."

Silence fell between them, emptying the corridor. What could either of them say? Obi-Wan did not feel particularly confessional with Mace Windu. Once, not so long ago, he'd found the Jedi Master incredibly intimidating. Training Anakin, however, had forced him to consult and converse with the Jedi Council regularly, and since Windu was a lifer along with Yoda, he was a steady, if sometimes disagreeable, presence. On occasion Obi-Wan had expressed his confusion or doubts in his training of Anakin, but that was expected and his duty. What he presently felt—well, he could not confess nor express it to Windu. Not anyone.

Well, maybe one . . . but it would probably be wrong, an act of betrayal. Or something else.

"Get some sleep, Obi-Wan."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Master Windu started for the lift T'lana had taken Sabé down. Obi-Wan followed, though he knew the west set would be a faster route to his quarters. Mace did not seem surprised as he called for the lift.

"I figured as much," he said. "It's probably for the best."

"Why aren't you with the Council and Anakin?"

"Someone needs to oversee our charming guest." Windu shot him a sidelong look as the lifts opened. "The Council will not start without me. Master Yoda wanted a few minutes alone with Skywalker, and he wanted my report on Sabé."

The lift door opened and they stepped in, Mace saying, "Infirmary, level K."

* * *

The tang of blood laced her mouth, tainting her breaths as she tried to keep them steady. The Jedi Temple. She was here, in it, not scurrying through its long forgotten bowels, a rat. Long had she yearned to walk these vaulted corridors immersed in the ethereal pulse of the Jedi haven, not a shadow but a small, integral part, an element. No, she was a rat in the light. A vagrant, tainted. Resident power coursed through her, around her, but it brought illuminated pain. Shortness of breath, quiver in her lips, a tremble in her bones. Yoda unreadable. The Padawan staring at her, wondering if she were a cold-blooded killer. A lifetaker. Ender.

It went wrong. She went wrong. Failed.

Now she plunged downward, wrists bound, the pinch of her teeth keeping the pressure acute, the blood on her tongue. Abandoned. Deserved, but it was too closed. She shut her eyes, squeezing the light out, and breathed deeply. Blood. Anakin's blood dripping onto her, spilling into hers, and she had done it. The bounty hunter, steely, wicked smile—she said it was only instant, but she was wrong. Sabé was wrong. Or she had done it wrong. The instant, so incomplete, was playing over and over through Obi-Wan's eyes.

She'd done this. Her and Skywalker.

The lift slowed and stopped. She opened her eyes as the Jedi Knight's muscled limbs rippled just before she reached out to urge Sabé forward. The former handmaiden moved slowly, the floor strangely covered in knee-deep water, impeding her. She blinked and saw nothing but the softly lit taupe corridor of the infirmary. A strange, fuzzy vine coiled up the smooth walls, somehow finding purchase, and continued threading down the long hallway, stretching as far as her eyes could follow. Faint, gentle whispers of fountains drifted across the immaculate floor, rippling around her hazy reflection in the polish. A healer in simple grey-blue tunics padded barefoot up the corridor, his short, mottled fur coat glistening with clean health.

"Ah, Knight T'lana," he said, his voice a soft purr as he bowed his head. A longer tuft of white hair ran from his crown down his neck to disappear under his tunic. She'd never seen anyone like him before. His features and limbs were human, yet his coat reminded her of the family pet (though she doubted he would appreciate her saying so). "Master Windu told me you were coming," he said to Sabé, gold-flecked eyes roaming over her. Smooth, amber warmth floated around him, but she willed her shields cold, fending it off. He smiled gently. "I am Dolin Ramoul."

Sabé sank back in her mind, creating another wall. She could easily imagine herself in Theed Palace, staring down Nute Gunray, if only it weren't so painful. Recreate the feeling, the sensation then, but stay distant. Aloof, untouchable.

Alone.

She shivered.

"She's not talkative," said T'lana.

"Yes, well, I hear you've had a rough time of it," Dolin said, never straying from Sabé. "Thank you, T'lana, but I believe we can manage from here."

T'lana bowed and faded back, silent except for her robe's whisper along the air. Alone. Sabé swallowed the small trickle of blood and felt clammy sweat gather in her clenched palms. So cold . . . a warm robe, Obi-Wan's had been warm, she could call its scent to mind . . . Why did he abandon her?

No. She could not be comforted or abandoned by him. Delirium. That was it. Maybe it was this bitter taste in her mouth.

"Breathe easy, my dear," said Dolin, strangely blurry before her. Except his eyes. They were sharp, gleaming. Gently he pressed a hand into the small of her back, "and stop biting yourself," and she exhaled unsteadily. The corridor swayed. Out of a pocket, Dolin produced a white cloth and tenderly blotted at the blood on her lip.

Too much.

She slammed back into her shields.

"Damn," Dolin said with a sad smile, barely cupping her chin. "Thought I had you."

Sabé favored him a glare and set herself perfectly numb. Dolin folded the cloth into his pocket. "You will not make this easy for me, will you? Or yourself." He swept a long arm back. "Come."

* * *

_Well, that was uncomfortable_, Obi-Wan thought as he emerged from the lift with Mace Windu. Barely a word had been spoken, and yet he felt as if he'd just endured some sadistic form of interrogation. Perhaps he should have just gone to bed, and then Windu would not be giving him a pointed look, to which he could not even fathom its meaning.

"Something wrong?" said Windu when Obi-Wan halted. "You look pale."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but felt his stomach roll. "You know I've seen enough of this place."

A ghost of a smirk graced Mace's face as he started down the corridor. A Knight emerged from the Nordanghu suite, hurrying by them as if her talons could not click out of there fast enough. A healer apprentice was sifting through a supply closet, her black braid swinging as she dropped a small box from her left hand. Obi-Wan caught a particularly nasty Corellian swear just before she gasped and whipped around at their approach.

"M-master Windu! Knight Kenobi!" Flushed, she bowed as the dropped box flew to her hand.

Windu nodded in passing, and Obi-Wan gave the fumbling girl a reassuring smile. Her blush deepened and she dropped the box again.

"That's Padawan Bala," Mace whispered when they were several paces past. "They haven't let her near the needles yet."

Then Mace led them into Dolin Ramoul's domain, a place Obi-Wan knew too well. Old injuries began aching and he winced. The smell of bacta and healing solvents twitched his nose. The waiting and observation area was vacant, but Obi-Wan instantly caught movement through the window of the second room. Mace followed him over.

Sabé sat on the table in the center, her profile stiff and inflexible as Dolin and his first assistant, Jamara, examined her. Jamara, a calm, weedy Bimm, was taking Sabé's vitals as Dolin stood behind her, eyes closed and open palms hovering over her. Obi-Wan could feel the healer's aura searching along Sabé as he had done, though much more adept. What would Dolin find?

Mace leaned against the window. "She's resisting." Obi-Wan nodded and put his arm up against the window, then rested his forehead against it. He wanted to see her face, but she was turned from him. Everything was turning from him. Not against him, just from, away, out of his control. Should he let it, or should he grasp what he could?

"I vaguely remember her," Mace murmured. "Polite but sneaky." Obi-Wan smirked, recalling how she'd saved him from the clutches of the Council. Windu caught it and raised a knowing eyebrow. "You're connected to one another."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to deny it, then sighed and scratched his beard. "Yes. She was a friend." Was. _I don't know what she is now_.

"She's important to you."

He didn't answer, but watched Dolin lower his hands and walk around to face Sabé. Even to his tired, distant eyes, she trembled. Perhaps it was the infirmary cold, or fear, or just the strain of staying so tight and closed when the Temple energy wanted _in_.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, finally. He could not lie. "I just don't know why."

"Hmm." Windu rubbed his chin, then crossed his arms. "Be careful, Obi-Wan."

Beyond the window, Jamara pulled the white privacy screen around, obscuring everything but the top half of her head. Dolin seemed to be keeping a steady rhythm of questions going through his examination, but Obi-Wan got the sense Sabé was not answering. Now, as Jamara set the screen in place and came back around, Obi-Wan sensed an apprehensive flicker. He turned away and crossed his arms, remembering too vividly how he'd found Sabé and Anakin in the hold. Then he saw her, almost dead after Anakin assaulted her. Anakin assaulted. Hurt her.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I think I better lie down," he muttered, flushing. "This place gets to me."

"We all have our weaknesses. Wait—" Mace turned back to the window. "Dolin's coming."

The healer emerged and closed the door softly behind him. "Glad you're here, Kenobi," he said, and he sounded both tired and intrigued.

"What can you tell us?" said Mace.

"Your girl's been through the sarlaac pit, all right," Dolin said, rubbing his hands together. "Tough little thing, though. Obstinate. Still reads like a bruise—good description, Kenobi—but I think she's more or less recovered from Skywalker's intrusion." He grinned, flashing sharp, white teeth. "She's definitely trained. From what I can tell, she pulled into a defensive wall, probably the only thing that saved her. Her shields are weakened, but I would not recommend trying to break them down. It's really quite remarkable she's coherent."

Dolin paused, letting Windu digest the news before continuing. "We took a few blood samples. Interesting thing, I've never seen it before in quite this form, but I suppose anything is possible. It'll take more tests, really quite fascinating—"

"Dolin . . ."

"Right, my apologies, Master Windu." He nodded to Obi-Wan. "She's not telling us anything, but I think your boy's pulled some of the, well, life out of her. I've never seen a transference done like this, usually it's the other way around, but that's not why I came out here."

"Then why?" said Windu, a touch impatiently.

"As I said, the lady is not cooperating. Tell me, Kenobi, when you attended her wounds, did you ever notice a tattoo?"

"No."

"Well, come in and have a look."

Obi-Wan glanced at Mace, who merely shrugged and followed them into the sterile room. Feeling uneasy, Obi-Wan came around the privacy screen. Sabé's brown eyes darted toward and then quickly away from him. She was standing just in front of the table, clutching her tunic to her chest, dark hair falling out of its fastenings and spilling around her shoulders. He followed the long curve of the exposed, silvery pink scar along her torso, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was. She inhaled shakily and he looked up to find her blushing as she studiously stared over his shoulder.

"You didn't notice this?" Dolin pointed to something just above the slender curve of her left hip.

"No," said Obi-Wan, trying to keep his embarrassment in check. "Her trousers had a higher waistline than these."

"Pardon me again, dear," Dolin said quietly, and lowered the trouser top a little more, revealing what looked to be a small crest etched into her skin. The tattoo was nearly invisible until one directly faced it, and then the subtle etching filled in black.

It looked vaguely familiar to Obi-Wan, and when he looked at Sabé, she was watching him closely. Desperation, a mixture of anger and defiance covering fear, shone in her eyes, overriding her humiliation.

"What do you think?" said Dolin, his thumb and forefinger keeping the tattoo in full view. "Perhaps a mark of whoever she works for? Whoever sent her after Skywalker?"

"No, I don't think so . . ." Obi-Wan gazed down at the crest, thinking hard. So familiar . . . where had he seen—oh yes. Naboo. He met Sabé's desperate gaze again and raised his eyebrows. _Please_, she seemed to silently beg him.

"I tried asking, but she says nothing. Why can't it be a mark?"

"It is a mark," Obi-Wan said quietly, never leaving Sabé's pleading face. "It's the Naboo royal crest, though a little altered, I believe."

Dolin straightened up and sighed. "So why all the silence? We know who she used to be."

Sabé flinched at his words and Obi-Wan felt a spike of pain through the Force. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin, and he repressed the urge to comfort her, reach out and touch her.

"She cannot tell you," he said softly, a futile attempt to ease the sting, "because it is betrayal. That, I believe, is the mark of a handmaiden."

"And here I thought I was onto something." Dolin bent down again and Obi-Wan stepped back, feeling heavy and useless. As the healer inspected Sabé's scar, humming quietly, Obi-Wan met Mace's frown. They stepped back around the privacy curtain, lending her a small piece of dignity. Sabé lifted her head again, though the defiance had slipped off her shoulders.

"Please, dear girl," Dolin's purring voice rose above his humming, "will you be a lady and cooperate now?" When Sabé didn't answer, Dolin looked inquiringly at Obi-Wan. "I know you're ready to drop, but would you mind?"

_I'm the last one who should be doing this_, Obi-Wan thought, a wretched clump in his gut as he came to the edge of the screen. "Sabé. Let him help you."

She was shaking. Starring down, straining against everything, holding it all in. What sort of duty put her in such a state? How could he help her? How could Dolin help her? She was resisting. Resisting until it would break her. It was her duty, and she'd fastened onto it, because it was all she had left.

* * *

Can't break, can't fall apart, not now. Stone, she needed to be stone, but even rocks shattered if they fell hard enough. She tried to breathe deeply, tried to focus on the scratch of her tunic against her skin, tried to ignore the painful, tingling presence at her side. No, no, she had to keep it together, she had to stop shaking.

"Easy, love, easy," Dolin murmured, and she sensed his hand pass close to her with a ribbon of palpable calm. "You'll make yourself sick."

"What . . . what's wrong?" Obi-Wan, so close, she could almost feel his breath. Concern. No, she'd told him to stop that.

"She's stressed . . . Resisting too hard . . ." Her tunic, irregular folds, she could focus on them. Why were infirmaries always so cold? " . . . She's weak, going to make herself sick. Listen, miss, just make it easier on yourself, all right?" Sabé closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Dolin's hand passed again, but she pushed his ministration away. Then fingertips brushed her temples, a vague, golden tingle, and she slowly opened her eyes to glare at Obi-Wan.

"That's it!" Dolin snapped. "Kenobi—get out. Sleep. Mace—make certain he stays down for several hours."

Obi-Wan dropped his hand, but barely spared Dolin a glance. "I just want to help."

"By exhausting yourself? I never thought you cared for this place much. How touching. Why couldn't you use some of your lovely persuasive powers? Words! Get out, or I'll send Jamara up to knock you out."

"I_told_ you not to," Sabé growled. Veruna's skull, she'd never felt so naked.

"She speaks. Wonderful. Out, Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan finally backed away, but Sabé could feel his eyes burning into her. She wanted to be physically sick, desperately needed the lurch, the humiliation, the sting of it to drown everything else out. But she couldn't. She could only stand, stock still, absorbing the cold, sterile room as Dolin, his calm flow ruined, hustled Obi-Wan and Mace Windu out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

She'd almost lost it. The knowledge of it, the asphyxiating sensation of loss coiling and tightening around her, she still felt it in a grim, shameful way. It had passed, she could still feel the moment of it passing, releasing without relief, and it burned coldly in her gut. She'd almost lost it, in there, under the Jedi's gazes. They'd watched the Temple's current push her under, hold her against the rock bottom, just because she was not worthy to swim in it. The almost was important, the almost gave her air. The almost let her sink to her knees and close her eyes, alone in this small quarter buried deep within the Temple. Dolin Ramoul's humming words blurred around her, gently distorted bubbles cocooning her in the ebb and flow of the Jedi haven.

Time must be passing, unconcerned with the lives it grasped, but it meant nothing to Sabé as she meditated. In one circular moment, she was breathing the healer in, feeling a prick of curiosity break through the green bile contaminating her insides, then he was drifting away as she was escorted into her quarters, sinking to her knees as her lungs tried to close and the bile rose up again . . . and then the cold trigger curving under her finger, the hot dripping of blood, with Obi-Wan looking on, frowning, the trigger still so smooth as all the while Dolin hummed away and her knees ached into the floor.

Training usurped her scattered, drowning emotions, melding her mind back into an orderly form. The room . . . she became the walls as she fell away, letting a piece of herself pass under the current and grind against the rocks. The room . . . the rock. Painful as her entrance into the Temple, but indifferent to her, unable to be ice or fire. A contradiction because of her and what she brought to it. Utilitarian and simple as any Jedi's quarters, not quite a jail cell, though she was its prisoner. A sleep cot, a refresher, and the gently curving blue-grey walls to envelope her. Swallowed inside the Temple. She preferred the cold ship's hold, shackled to a bracing pole. Or secreted in her hovel deep beneath the Temple, a rat scuttering in the catacombs. Not here, finally in the Temple, buried in its current. Where she did not belong.

The order of things, truths and memories, her place . . . they settled down, bowing beneath the room's unconcerned curve. She breathed evenly in and out. Her behavior in the Temple, the near loss of control, came from guilt and shame. Shame from her guilt. What settled worse with her? Her actions or her shame in her actions? She'd become a killer. Not a passionate one, or even a productive or successful one. The higher principle, the greater cause, the duty and purpose, the complete lack of self . . . that's where the kill came from. But it emptied. The conviction—_her_ conviction—left with the whistling dart. She had not known it or felt it. Had she been so empty and thoughtless by then to not notice? To feel the last of her slip away with a deadly hiss?

Something acidic lingered in her throat, eating away as she breathed in and out. She, Sabé Mabriee, was the betrayer. Her violation sealed the moment she stepped into the Temple and felt the air abandon her. Guilt for her actions, for her and Skywalker's blood spilling and pooling, betrayed her duty. Her conviction had been lost, with it her mind, and she could not wield conviction and execute duty if she was so thoughtless. No self to dedicate. But then, somewhere in that struggled breath, had she gasped some of herself again? And in there, if she found some self through guilt, she betrayed Yoda a second time.

The door slid open, breaching her meditation. Sabé opened her eyes, undisturbed as she still floated within the impassive void of the room.

Padawan Ropjo's slanted, blue eyes glittered as he entered with a tray of food and set them on the small table across from the cot. Sabé watched his long fingers flex gracefully upon release. She had little doubt all his senses were attuned to her, would notice if she so much as twitched or made for the open door. His grey skin seemed just another, thin curve to the room as he turned to her, face beautifully void of any emotion, though she detected a hint of curiosity there.

"You have not moved."

No, she supposed she had not.

"You must eat." Ropjo smiled faintly, a trace wrinkling around his lipless mouth. "Dolin brought it. He wishes the refectory gruel on no one."

Sabé couldn't quite move her lips into an appreciative smile.

Ropjo bowed his head and left as if he'd never been.

Several minutes passed before she moved, before her body and mind surfaced and joined enough to acknowledge the functional necessity of food. Slowly she stretched, feeling an odd conviction in the stiffness of her limbs. They should not be stiff, not if she was meditating properly. Still, she relished the ache in her limbs, the tightness and inferiority of herself.

Movement came relatively easily, despite her weak, protesting muscles. Breathing in and out to her meditative rhythm, she carefully brought the tray to the cot and sat, legs crossed, the tray resting over them. Bread, viraut meat and porskin root soup, a muja fruit, and a restorative herbal drink. Food better than she'd had in years. She ate slowly, meditating over the warm, thick broth filling her, awakening her senses as she chewed and swallowed past the burning clog in her throat.

The moment felt eerily like that early morning five years ago as she slipped numbly through the mists rising from Theed's waterfalls. Dawn had begun to seep into the streets, soaking through night's dark cloak. The hours before that were already lost to her, a blur at best, something extinct or a vacuum of something that had never been. Just Amidala's back, her words, the blinding vacancy, and the urge in her gut, an impulse of a vision.

Sabé pinched some bread between her fingers, felt it break softly away. Just how the early morning transport had lifted from Naboo. Gone before morning. She had not watched from the viewports, had not endured the agony of seeing Naboo sink into the black ocean. She had felt it, somewhere underneath.

She inhaled sharp and deep, held it. Then released it slowly, letting the sound fill the room.

* * *

The door opened.

Sabé blinked and realized she must've been staring at the wall for hours. Turning, she fought the urge to be sick, and her heart thudded unevenly. Master Yoda hobbled in as the door shut behind him, complete neutrality in his air. Sabé stood quickly, then immediately dropped down to her knees and bowed her head. The floor beneath her fingertips was cool and steady.

A dense silence hung between them, but she used it to calm her sudden flutter. What Yoda had to say, he would say. What he would do, he would do. She would wait, then speak. Yes, she wanted to scream it. Push it out before anything else could be said. But she could not. Yoda had the right to first speak, and her duty was still to him.

Sabé raised her head and met Yoda's indecipherable green eyes. Was it possible for him to age since she'd seen him last? She couldn't hold it in. "I failed."

Yoda sighed, his ears falling with his long breath. He stared at the floor, refolded his small, clawed hands over his cane, and then met her stare again. "Why, this is?" Sabé opened her mouth, but Yoda rapped his cane sharply and turned away. "Need answer this, you do not."

"Master?" Sabé could not hide the confusion in her voice as Yoda paced around the room, his cane tapping in a delicate but purposeful way. She had not known what to expect from the Jedi Master. Perhaps a harsh reprimand, banishment, or nothing. She would not be surprised if she was left to silent trial and sentencing. Yoda could not reveal her to the Order, and his secret was safe with her.

"To see you alive, glad I am," he said, turning to face her again.

Sabé bit the inside of her cheek against the grief in his haggard face. She had to get this out. Calmly, rationally. "Yoda," she said. Her throat burned a little. The Jedi Master went very still, watching her. She took a deep breath. "I . . . I cannot rightly serve you anymore." The pulse in her fingertips thrummed the floor. "I will do whatever you ask me to here. I will complete my duty, but then I ask you release me of it."

It was out. Done. She couldn't quite breathe. Or feel. Or think.

Yoda said nothing, revealed nothing for a long moment. Then he sighed again and sagged with it, bobbing his head slowly in a nod. "Grant you this, I will," he said finally. "Your confidence, grateful for, I am." Then he reached out and cupped her chin, a sad but strangely satisfied smile wrinkling his wizened face. "See you again, I may not, for to Naboo you will go. May the Force be with you."

Sabé stood as he turned and hobbled out of the quarters. The room tilted dizzily as Yoda blurred, everything blurred, and the door slid shut behind him. Leaving her in silence. Alone. The numbness she expected didn't come. She gasped, trying to brace against the dizzying sway of the room, waiting for the numbness. Alone, she was alone. No master, no service, no duty. No one. She was without. This time by choice, by necessity, but it still left her with nothing. Sabé couldn't see. Everything had blurred together, as if the room were spinning, and her eyes were hot, burning. She backed into the wall, and then heard a strange, rasping noise. She closed her eyes against it, but it came louder and her lungs couldn't get enough air. Then she realized what it was and knew the numbness wouldn't come.

* * *

Obi-Wan supposed that if his nap had not been entirely restful, it certainly had been productive. Jedi were generally not insomniacs and natural sleep should come easily, even if one was plagued by the demands of his mission or present predicament. Some of a Jedi's earliest training dealt with the various sleep cycles, whether they be restful or meditative. Obi-Wan, shutting himself away upon Master Windu's orders, had known his mind was too wired despite his exhaustion, but he merely had to use a little discipline before he was out in a wonderfully unconscious state of nothingness. Once he was physically sound, he'd moved into deep meditation. Now, after being a total of fifteen hours away from the rest of the galaxy, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, resigned to facing it.

A grim, empty sort of quiet surrounded him. Obi-Wan kept still for a moment, breathing silently as his senses absorbed the functional, sparse confines of his quarters. If he was less trained, had slipped somewhere in discipline, he would have curled under his sheets to shut out everything. The notion never crossed his mind. He just needed a moment.

Then the Jedi moved, noting how the tight emptiness in his stomach matched the absence around him. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the dirty clothing he'd shed without regard to tidiness. What would his Padawan say? Obi-Wan started to smile, but it died very quickly. He stooped and chucked the beige pile into the laundry bin beside his bed.

When he emerged into the small apartment's common, the vacancy was poignant. All the lights were on their lowest setting. The air even smelled unused. Did the Council still have Anakin in questioning? How long could they possibly keep him without break?

Obi-Wan spotted the flimsy note on the kitchenette's table and picked it up, a feeling of foreboding creeping up his neck. When did Anakin ever do the proper thing and leave notes for him?

It simply read: _Out_. – _A_

Obi-Wan sighed, whether from relief or exasperation, he didn't know. He folded the little flimsy square up as he went to the window and adjusted the shade screen to let in Coruscant's late morning light. The flimsy felt tiny, insignificant, between his thumb and forefinger. Coruscant looked bleached. He turned away, rubbing at his eyes. He needed to shower and eat and find out what the bloody was going on.

The refreshing water hitting his skin shook him out of his thoughtless state. His mind, having become passive in the transition from meditation to regular consciousness, reasserted itself. The facts of the matter scrolled behind his eyes. They weren't good. No matter which end or angle he looked from, it was bad. The violence against and done by Anakin was questionable enough, but it almost paled in retrospection to the concrete fact of his betrayal. Obi-Wan hung his head, watching the water gather and run off the ends of the hair falling before his eyes. Yes, betrayal. Anakin had betrayed the Jedi, forsaken his oath the moment he took vows with Senator Amidala. It was fact. It was certain. Pure.

The act meant Anakin rejected the Jedi Order, but Obi-Wan knew the Padawan did not see it as betrayal. This was not an excuse. Some of the Code was designed for interpretation, but not a Jedi's loyalty and dedication. If Anakin would so blatantly circumvent his own oath out of selfishness, then how could one expect him to follow or dedicate himself to any of it? The answer was a long one. Obi-Wan had witnessed some of it. The rest he had learned after the fact. Anakin killed in nonsensical revenge. Then he'd harmed again, using the dark side. Lying, killing, betraying. The sum of their parts was just as bad.

Condemning, that's what the facts were. But Obi-Wan could feel his checked and orderly feelings lurking in his empty gut, just as he could feel the warm, cleansing water trailing down his back. The facts hurt, but then it was Anakin. How could he possibly want to make excuses for him? How could he not?

Obi-Wan finished showering and dried off, focusing on the present. Which was very unclear. Would Anakin be expelled? Or would the Council take an unprecedented step and allow the betrayals to slide? Either motion had undulating consequences, especially if Anakin was indeed the Chosen One. And which, Obi-Wan had to ask himself as he toweled off his hair, would he choose if he was on the Council? Did he believe Anakin should be expelled, or did he believe in redemption and repair? The stubbornly attached Obi-Wan wanted the second chance. After all, had he not forsaken his vows for Melida/Daan? _No_, the logical Jedi Obi-Wan said. So many years after Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan felt certain leaving the Jedi then had been the right, if wayward, thing to do. It had plagued him for years as a Padawan, and he'd swayed between believing it necessary or an outright betrayal. Now he felt he could not have truly become a Jedi if he'd left the planet and its people to all that suffering. His sin had been disobedience to Qui-Gon and Council orders, but he had kept to the Code. Yes, his feelings overrode his loyalty to Qui-Gon in that moment of decision, and yes, Obi-Wan could see the reasoning he did it for a girl. But it went beyond Cerasi; it stretched from her to the cause of the Young, to the planet, to what the Jedi stood for. To abandon that would have been to abandon what it meant to be a Jedi.

But did that mean he could or would not give Anakin a second chance? The boy's actions were not selfless. He went _against_ the Order. Toss the Jedi out of the equation, and the answer was still dark and disturbing. But could he really toss Anakin out? Obi-Wan wondered as he pulled on a fresh tunic. Could he even continue to train Anakin?

Would he even be allowed?

Obi-Wan paused, dizzy as the notion settled uneasily over him.

Then he quickly shook it off. No use in thinking about it yet. He finished dressing, trimmed up his beard, and came out to a still empty apartment. Out. What did that mean, exactly? The Council had released Anakin and the boy had gone where? Just to a meditation chamber, or out of the Temple? Did the Council give him permission to leave, or did he just . . . leave? If he left the Temple, Obi-Wan was willing to bet Anakin had gone off to his wife. Such a move would undoubtedly not sit well with the Council, regardless if they gave him permission or not.

Obi-Wan raked his wet hair and deliberated over his next move. He needed to eat. But he needed to know the status of things. His wandering gaze fell to the satchel sitting just within the open door to his sleeping quarters. Damn. He'd been so good about keeping his mind off that and focusing on Anakin.

The Jedi turned away, intent on finding something to eat. Sleep and long meditation had been good. It set him back on his feet, unclouded his mind. Things had clogged up on that small ship. But now he'd had a chance to distance himself. It embarrassed Obi-Wan how muddled he'd let himself get. The situation had shocked him, that was all. It was best not to think about his confusion surrounding her and just focus on the cold facts, deal with those, and keep a proper distance. He had enough on his plate just dealing with Anakin, who should be his only focus.

The living Force would just have to sulk about it.

Much to Obi-Wan's satisfaction, the housekeeping droid had serviced the food unit upon his return. Even his favorite tea and bread spread awaited his consumption. Although he would never admit it to anyone, Obi-Wan's favorite part about coming home to the Temple was a proper breakfast. (As long as he cooked it, anyway.)

It wasn't until he picked up his robe from where he'd dropped it on the comm. unit that Obi-Wan noticed he had a message. He tensed as it flickered on, but he could glean very little from it. Master Yoda and Windu wanted to meet with him later this afternoon. Sometimes he thought the Masters garnered a sick joy from not being forthright when it came to leaving messages.

He needed to kill time until then. Again, his eyes fell to the dropped satchel. Certainly he owed his possession of it to the need to have some control and presence over the situation. Yet it did not account for his hesitance to approach it. This would make distancing a far more difficult task than he'd like. Not that he had a problem with distancing himself from the subject. None. To prove this, he snatched up the bag and dispersed its contents on the apartment's table. The weapons he'd pulled off her person were wrapped carefully in the folds of her skirt and tunics. The polished metal looked odd and misplaced against the quality cloth.

Obi-Wan frowned as he examined one of the simple but effective vibroblades. Every weapon here he'd seen before, even the dart gun. They were fine and well-made, and readily available on legal and black markets. The serial imprinting may leave him a trail to the seller, where he may discover who employed her, but Obi-Wan doubted anyone gunning a Jedi would leave such an open trail. Chances were the imprinting would be erased or faked, or even that these were unmarked, clever imitations. Judging by their owner's tight-lipped stance, Obi-Wan was willing to bet the latter.

Still . . . it was something to do. Obi-Wan carefully loaded the satchel and headed for the scanner droids.

* * *

Her eyes felt thick and scratchy and her throat hurt. She rolled over on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position and block any exhausted thoughts out of her mind. Plenty of time to think later. All the time in the world, maybe. She made herself still, could feel the weariness starting to creep into her limbs . . . but then an uneasy sensation at the edge of her mind. Sabé sat up, concentrating on the black chill.

The door hissed open and she shot to her feet, hand automatically going for a vibroblade that wasn't there.

Anakin Skywalker smiled coolly at her and the door hissed shut.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan could barely conceal his surprise to find Mace Windu standing in his apartment. "I'm sorry, Master Windu," he said quickly, coming fully through the threshold. "Did I get our meeting time wrong?"

"No." Mace gazed out the window for a moment and Obi-Wan bowed his head to Master Yoda, who sat hovering in his special chair in the middle of the common area. He set the satchel down on the table and folded his arms within his robe, waiting. The scanner droids had been next to useless. The weapons had never been marked.

Mace turned from the window, expressionless as he regarded Obi-Wan. "We thought you might be awake by now. You looked rested."

"I am."

Mace nodded, but his gaze roamed the apartment. "Anakin is not here."

"No." Obi-Wan could not discern if a questioned lay in this statement or not, but decided it was best to be forthcoming. "In fact, I do not know where he is at present."

Windu frowned and looked to Yoda, who looked unsurprised but not pleased by this. "I have two guesses," said the taller Jedi Master darkly.

"Guidance and comfort, Skywalker will look for," nodded Yoda. "Look for this at the Temple, he does not. Troubling, this is."

Obi-Wan waited, feeling like he should've skipped breakfast. Windu gestured for Obi-Wan to sit on the functional lounge Yoda hovered by. The younger Jedi obeyed, but did not appreciate how Windu continued to gaze out the window.

Yoda suddenly chuckled, startling the other two. "Patient, our young Obi-Wan seems," the old Jedi said. "But anxious he is to know Skywalker's fate." He jabbed his cane toward Obi-Wan. "So eager for the future to unfold, you should not be."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, but he thought something odd in Yoda's tone. As if the admonishment was not quite directed solely at him.

"The Council has not come to a final decision yet," Windu said. "We are divided. Some of the Council feels Skywalker has given us every reason to deny any continuation of his training." He paused and faced Obi-Wan. "We are, however, in complete agreement that expelling Skywalker may have some serious consequences."

"Take responsibility for his actions, he must," said Yoda. "Agree on that, we all do."

Obi-Wan forced a light smile. "It seems this is the most agreement the Council has had since they granted Anakin's training."

Mace raised an eyebrow and Yoda frowned bemusedly. The former glanced at Yoda, then turned his gaze once again to Coruscant's metallic landscape. An inkling of impatience crept under Obi-Wan's skin. What were they waiting for? Yes, the Masters tended to be a little cryptic, so that he may search along their words and learn rather than simply accept whatever they told him. But he felt this was not quite the time for learning games. Or maybe, he thought a little grumpily, this was _exactly_ the time.

He cleared his throat. "If the Council _did_ expel Anakin," he said carefully, "what do you think would happen to him?"

"We all have imaginations, to varying degrees," murmured Mace, "and I doubt we have to exhaust them." He continued to stare out, a dark silhouette against the screened daylight. "He's unstable and has exhibited morbid fits of rage. But the Council examination showed he's finally reining in his emotions."

"Yes," said Obi-Wan, rubbing his cleaned-up beard. "I noticed this after he attacked S—the assassin." He flushed slightly when Yoda's eyes flicked to him. "It is a skill he's continually failed at, whether from lack of trying or inability . . . I'm not sure how I feel about his newfound control over it."

"A lesson hard learned," said Yoda. He laid his cane across his lap. "A traditional student, Skywalker is not."

"Headstrong, insolent, dangerous," Windu muttered. "Maybe too dangerous."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth against the nausea simmering in his stomach. He could see himself defending Anakin before the Council after many a debacle, but then he could hear his own words to Qui-Gon on the landing platform all those years ago. _The boy is dangerous_. He had still sensed this, known it deep in his gut when he promised to train Anakin. So had the Council, apparently, when they granted him permission. _We're just as responsible for this as he is_, he thought grimly.

"Know your thoughts, I do," Yoda said, staring intently at Obi-Wan. "As a traditional student or not, to train Skywalker divided the Council always is."

"Just like whether or not he is the Chosen One." Obi-Wan looked between the two Jedi Masters, silently urging one to speak plainly, to just bloody tell him their thoughts. Or were they both so lost in this? Or too afraid to choose a course of action if it may be the wrong one?

"I do not believe the prophecy should play a role in the boy's training," Windu said, turning back to them. His mouth thinned a little, as if to pacify Obi-Wan with a milder frown. "But I cannot argue his training should be rigidly by the book. The fact is we do not know for certain he is the Chosen One, or what that even means, but we should accept that his circumstances have been unorthodox. This does _not_, however, excuse his actions."

"His trial, this is," said Yoda. "Face it, every Padawan must." He leaned forward toward Obi-Wan, large green eyes piercing him. "Stronger you were, when turned back from the dark path you did."

Obi-Wan understood Yoda and agreed—to a point. He had not been granted Knighthood because he defeated the Sith apprentice. He'd admitted his succumbing to the dark rage that'd overcome him when Qui-Gon was struck down, but he'd recognized this and released it, finding the calming light in his center, and then from that the strength to call on the Force again. His trial had not been standard. Was Yoda saying this was Anakin's? His test into Knighthood? How far did Anakin need to fall to finally learn and return a stronger Jedi? He could not imagine the Council condoning murder and assault in the form Anakin had done to be the test point of the trial. It should mean Anakin had failed already. No Jedi Master would use this as a learning tool.

No, such a notion was too irrational. He'd misunderstood. Yoda meant this as an impromptu trial, just as his duel with the Sith had been.

"The Council has decided to weigh its decision on Anakin's present actions and behavior before voting on his status as a Jedi," said Windu. "We do not want to lose him, Obi-Wan." His looked was weighted. "I fear he would make too easy prey for our enterprising opponents."

"Dooku and the other Sith, Sidious," said Obi-Wan, looking down at his boots. Mace had a worrisome point. Expelling Anakin would make it more vulnerable to the dark side than he already was, and particularly appealing to the Sith. He could almost theorize that the Sith would hire an assassin to construct Anakin's failure with the Jedi Order, making him all the more easier to turn. Was it possible? He would discount it simply because he could not fathom Sabé working for the Sith. Unless she didn't know.

"Your thoughts, Obi-Wan?" Mace prodded.

"Sorry, Master." Obi-Wan relayed his musings, noting that Yoda seemed particularly deep in thought as he stared at his cane.

"Ah, yes," sighed Windu. "Our guest."

"Played, her role is. Focus on now and what is come, we should." Yoda's ears flattened. "At war, the Republic is. Stronger is the dark side. Depend on your Padawan, it may. Fail or not, whether he does."

Windu moved away from the window, and Obi-Wan could clearly see the tension in his smooth lines. "We may be risking too much here," he said. "The boy failed. It may be he needs to fail to learn. Maybe he'll learn and I'll swallow my doubt." He paused and shared a look with Yoda, then turned to Obi-Wan. "The choice is Anakin's. If he wishes to remain a Jedi and prove to us he understands his failings and accepts responsibility for them, he must first end his marriage with Senator Amidala."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and looked toward the window. Anakin was as good as gone.

* * *

Something had changed in him, something that made her blood run cold. She stood rigid, heart hammering against the ice in her chest as Anakin Skywalker, the small, confident smile still etched into his bloodless face. He stood taller, calculating eyes sweeping the simple chamber.

"You can relax," he said calmly. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Sabé stiffened against a shudder. That was it: he was _controlled_. He was not about to explode with emotion and rage. This was not some boy about to throw a tantrum. She stared at him, checking her shields and wondering what had become of her guard.

"Then why are you here?" she asked. Somehow her voice didn't quaver. "I doubt anyone would allow you down here." Unbidden, she saw Ropjo's slashed form spread across the corridor.

"You're not wrong," said Skywalker, that odd smile still in place. He moved deeper into the cell and Sabé forced herself not to back into the far wall. Anakin smiled a little wider and stopped just a step in front of her. His eyes seemed brighter, but his cheeks were pale instead of flushed. She fixed him with a glare and raised her chin. If he wanted her to speak, perhaps state he did not frighten her, and thus admitting to it, she would not grant him the satisfaction. Silent and just as cold.

Skywalker's smile disappeared and he turned away to pace what little he could. But it was a smooth, catlike stride. "I know we could care less about what happens to each other," he said, quiet and impersonal like the faint swish of his dark cloak. "I don't care you tried to kill me, or who even hired you. Well," he amended, the eerie smile flashing, "you ruined a few things. That annoys me. But I'm over it."

_I doubt that_.

Skywalker paused before her again, his icy eyes darkening as he looked her up and down. She'd never had the sensation of being exposed before him, but now she felt it, as if he could suddenly scan her. He had control. Could grasp. And he knew it.

"You were only a pretend queen," he said quietly. "_She's_ real. You will never be like her."

"Nor would I want to be," Sabé snapped. "You think you know her, but you only know the ideal she wants you to believe."

Skywalker's arm twitched and his eyes flashed dangerously. But it was gone in a second and the cold smile returned. "You want to upset me. But I'm beyond that now." He paused and seemed to scan her again. "I'm here on behalf of Obi-Wan."

She almost flinched. Almost. He wanted to shake her, but why use Obi-Wan to do so?

"Yes, Obi-Wan." Anakin walked around her, pressing close, nearly speaking into her ear. "He's more sentimental than he'll ever admit. He needs to know why you tried to kill his apprentice. All of this is hurting him more than your blade ever hurt me." He stopped in front of her again. Some of the calculation fell from his face and she glimpsed a hint of the boy. "Please, Sabé," he said. She winced; he'd said her name. "I don't want to hurt Obi-Wan. He'll need something. Give him this."

Then he stepped back, the coolness settling over his features again. The door opened and he paused in the threshold. "This is your fault. I hope you're satisfied." Then he was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

The last vestiges of twilight lingered in the faint pink mists from the waterfalls spilling from the cliffs of Theed. Starflies buzzed and blinked through the cooling air, clusters of them hovering over the hedges and under the arching branches of trees rich in green splendor. Sabé deeply breathed in the evening's perfume, letting the moisture from the nearest waterfall soothe her lungs. The stone beneath her bare feet emanated summery warmth, but she didn't mind as a gentle breeze lifted from the Valley Solleau.

Someone approached from behind, and Sabé smiled a little as she heard Amidala tease, "Thought I might find you out here."

"It's a good evening, Your Highness," the handmaiden shrugged. She let her elbows rest on the balcony's sculpted railing.

"Hmm." The Queen, long hair freed of official stateliness, joined Sabé at the rail, mimicking her leaning position.

Together they gazed out over the glowing domes of Theed's skyline, the mountains only dark, rising shadows. Sabé's gaze traveled beyond the reaching peaks, becoming lost in the purple-blue infinity broken only by twinkling pinpricks of other lives being lived. If she stretched out a finger, she could almost touch those stars, those lives. She smiled a little at the foolish notion. Not even Saché and Amidala would probably understand how wonderfully soothing and humbling it was to gaze up at the galactic heaven and realize just how small she could be, how even Naboo could be. On the whole she was even tinier than these pinlights, her hidden life behind the Queen's shoulder just that much smaller, that much more intricate, in the grand scheme stretching from the Theed plateau to the black-ridge horizon. Everywhere else, Naboo and all its people were just lost as another speck in the night sky. She could easily convince herself time had not passed since the Naboo believed themselves to be the only beings in the galaxy. But then there were refugee matters from troubles systems, the somewhat resolved trade recalibration to strengthen, and the aftereffect of the Trade Federation's invasion . . .

The skygazing's magic seemed to drift away with the night breeze. Sabé ticked off the constellations and their systems, her eyes crossing the sky toward the so extremely far Core worlds. So many worlds with so many things happening. So many beings in need of help—

Amidala's laugh startled Sabé.

"What?" she asked.

"You just sighed," said the Queen, grinning. "It was horrible, like you have the vapors."

"Sorry." Sabé smiled sheepishly. A starfly floated lazily over the balcony's surrounding bushes.

Amidala turned around, leaning back against the rail and studying Sabé. "Anything on your mind?"

"Not really." Sabé watched the starfly briefly touch upon a white petal.

"I could always order you to tell me," Amidala said impishly. Sabé cocked an eyebrow at her. "All right, you know I would never do that. Still, is something wrong? You've been so quiet lately. You haven't even argued with Eirtaé all week."

Sabé laughed at that. "I rather thought that would be considered an improvement." When Sabé returned her eyes to the sky, Amidala sighed, and then reached over to fiddle with the long, draping sleeve of Sabé's yellow handmaiden gown.

"Are you bored?" the Queen asked quietly.

"What?" Sabé forgot the stars, focused everything on her friend's pensive face. "Ami—Your Highness," she said in a low voice. "I assure you, I am unwavering in my duty to you. And my friendship."

"I know, I'm not questioning your devotion," said Amidala, still feeling the silken cloth between her painted thumb and forefinger. "You just seem bored, is all."

Sabé smirked ruefully. "Politics aren't exactly my forte. I told you as much in the beginning."

"And yet you chose to serve a queen."

"I don't regret it." Smiling, Sabé slipped an arm through Amidala's. "But you forget, I took my oath to serve and protect you. Enduring ponderous political discussions in absolute silence and stillness without falling asleep or strangling anyone is merely a large grain of salt."

"Lodged in your throat?" But Amidala's dark eyes were sparkling. Then she laid her head against Sabé's shoulder and sighed, causing the handmaiden to grin. "How wrong is it for me to somewhat miss that incident with the Trade Federation?"

"Ah, so you're the bored one and you're trying to pin it on me."

"What better way to fulfill your duty?"

Sabé tilted her head to the side, brushing her fingers against the thick leaves of the balcony's bordering hedge. Then she looked up toward the sky again. Night had fully come to Theed. Even more stars burned through the vast blackness separating her from everyone else. She could not decide if this emptiness beyond Naboo's atmosphere was a protective blanket or a barrier.

"You don't miss it, Ami," she said quietly. "You hated the suffering. What you miss is the action of it, the resolution and how good it felt to know the decisions we made were right."

"And the sneaking around," said Amidala, lifting her head. "Seeing new places. Meeting people so different from us."

"Not really that different," Sabé murmured, looking Coreward again. "And no offense, Your Highness, but I did not enjoy sitting around while you gallivanted around Tatooine."

"I did _not_ gallivant." Amidala nudged her and said in a teasing voice, "I wasn't the one making friends with a Jedi Padawan."

"Oh, not this again." Rolling her eyes, Sabé turned around, peering into the Royal Chambers. Her fellow handmaidens moved around, shadows coming to life after a long, arduous day. She was tired of the teasing from her fellow sisters. It was pointless and unmerited, especially after a few months had passed. To top it off, she would never see Obi-Wan Kenobi again, so it made all of this exceptionally silly. Her stomach tightened as she risked a glance back over the black ridge of mountains. A thin line of red seeped through the black. It began to drip, like blood.

"I don't mean how the other girls mean," said Padmé. "Just . . . I understand. I just don't understand why you betrayed me."

"Your Highness, what—" Sabé whirled around, but the corridor stretched far and long before her, she was running but it didn't seem fast enough. The blaster was hot in her hand, despite the coolant in its hilt. Her lungs hurt, but it didn't matter, she could see the Queen, surrounded, so far away.

"Viceroy!" she shouted, raising the blaster even as she halted. A flash of silver, a flash of green—blood splattering black over pearl white lace.

Amidala screaming and stumbling back, her arms full of body, unable to support it. He slipped down her, down the lace, smearing his life over her, staining her . . . but blaster wounds didn't hemorrhage like that, there was so much blood, and she just kept screaming. Then Amidala looked at the murderer, but the blaster was gone and Sabé's hands dripped in blood, acidic and black and burning through her skin. Skywalker seemed to split, rising out of his own blood, a solid shadow cast over his and Amidala's kneeling bodies. Behind him the lake rippled, the crimson in the blackened sky dripping down into the waters, and Sabé, as she struggled to breathe, saw the waters turn to ashen sand with wrapped, unmoving bodies strewn across the dunes.

Skywalker turned slowly toward her, eyes as red as the blood falling from the sky and drowning Amidala until Sabé couldn't distinguish her from the dead body she cradled. "Anakin, Anakin," Amidala sobbed, unable to see him standing there, staring at Sabé. The air thickened, burning Sabé's lungs. She reached up to her throat, gasping. Searing wetness dripped from her clawing fingers, and she held her blood-soaked hands before her.

"You did this," said Amidala, dark eyes looming through the darkening pool around her. "You betrayed me." The black, thick bloom spread toward Sabé, stretching and separating. Skywalker only watched, his cloak not even fluttering in the strong, ashy breeze. Sabé, choking on a scream, backed away from it—and hit a wall. The blossom glimmered lethally as it morphed into a seal—her seal. Then it hardened and cracked, exploding in the harsh wind, shards piercing her—she screamed. The yellow, silken gown turned orange, then to brown with ebony streams that flowed with the fabric to spill around her feet. She opened her mouth to scream again as the hot liquid bled out from the stinging needles buried in her—but there was no sound. The dunes rolled forward, surreally golden under the crimson and black sky, the wrapped bodies rising and falling as Skywalker stood before them, black and tall and unmoved by the wind. He stepped forward, holding something small in his hand, a serene smile under his molten eyes. He knelt down to her, and only then did she realize she was sinking to the ground, where between her and Skywalker the two black pools seeped over the shattered remains of the seal.

Skywalker knelt over her, a tiny, silver object between his thumb and forefinger. It flashed, glittering in his eyes. "Just one prick," he said softly, like a distant echo. "Amazing, isn't it?" Her blood was warm as it pulled her down, all the way down. Skywalker smiled sadly at her. "It won't be long now. Then you'll see." He turned slowly as two figures, waiflike in the wind, emerged from the sands to stand distantly over his left shoulder. Obi-Wan and Yoda looked down at her, a faint blue haze around them. She reached a trembling, red hand toward them, but Obi-Wan turned away and Yoda merely bowed his head. Another shadow fell over her, over Skywalker's right shoulder, blacker than the blood, than the sky. Skywalker turned back to Sabé, unaware of the shadowed figured eclipsing everything behind him. He leaned closer, until his metallic breath filled her withering lungs. "Then they'll all see."

* * *

Cool grey dowsed her. Gasping, she lurched off the bed and hit the floor. Pain shot up from her elbows, and she kicked violently at the tangled blanket binding her legs. She rolled with the action, coming upright, the blanket pooling behind her feet, hands splayed as she crouched, breathing hard, blood pounding in her ears.

The Temple—she was in the Temple. The room's soothing tones swayed sickeningly. Sabé lunged for the refresher and vomited into the basin. Red flashed across her closed eyes, red and black. Too much! She heaved again. She didn't want to look, but there was too much behind her eyes. When she opened them, she focused on the dull sheen of the basin's rim. Breathing shallowly, she tried to focus on the solid reality before her. The light seemed to shift. The air, putrid from her vomit and sweat, melded into a cool blue-grey. She did not jump when caressing hands scooped up her hair, and a calm, humming voice said, "All things have a purpose, love, and this basin has been fulfilled."

Then a towel appeared before her and she took it, wiping away what didn't make it into the 'fulfilled' basin. The healer's fingers ran through her hair, soothing it down her back. He felt like the waterfalls of Theed. She clutched the towel and closed her eyes, letting the cascade replace her last visage of Theed. It worked. Just for a moment. Then it was red and black again.

Her eyes snapped open and she turned around, seeing her own hair slip through Dolin Ramoul's padded fingers. She took a step back, instinctively willing herself to stone. The white shock of hair at his crown rippled and the air seemed to shift again.

"What are you doing here?" she croaked.

Dolin smiled gently. "Visiting you, of course."

Why? Sabé didn't want to ask. Nor did she want to have visitors. But her now settled heart tightened at the thought of being alone. Alone to let the memory and nightmare, whatever that was, sink in and fill her again. She shivered. The sweat was drying, her tunic separating from her back, chilling her skin.

The healer gently pulled the soiled towel from her hands and set the basin to empty. "I suppose it is futile to ask about it?"

"Yes." Sabé glanced back into the quarter, saw the tossed blanket rumpled on the floor.

"Nightmares come and go," said Dolin. She looked at him sharply, but he only smiled placatingly. "No, your shields are fine, love. I have a Temple full of Jedi, who are trained to release these things into the Force, but we are short of perfection here."

Although she didn't relax, Sabé felt some of the tension, the flight in her, dissipate. Truth be it, she didn't really have any fight, either. The compulsion to resist Dolin's manipulations was just habit, a necessity. She stood silent in her wretched state, only watching. No doubt the Jedi healer was here to inveigle her to compliance. Still, she was not eager to stymie his emollient effect on the air. If he left, would the nightmare's abrasive currents consume her?

"I know what you're thinking, my dear," said Dolin, folding his hands. A faint smile traced his thin lips. "We are both perspicacious beings, are we not?" His snowy fetlock rippled, a graceful, silvery sheen disappearing over the crown of his head. "Am I wrong to believe we both nurse insatiable curiosities?"

Although she was quiescent before Dolin, Sabé distantly pondered what it would be like to sit down and carry an in-depth discussion with the strange healer. He reminded her of Master Ranuna, her former meditation master, with a dash of someone else, as if his eyes should be blue instead of amber.

"It's a pity you're such an ascetic, my dear," Dolin said with a little sigh. Sabé bit the inside of her bottom lip and glanced toward the main chamber. Something, like a stack of bound and covered text, rested near the end of the sleep bench. "Ah yes," the healer said brightly, as if all too pleased by her shifting attention, "one reason for my visit."

Sabé raised an eyebrow. No doubt he had many, and this intriguing element would be nominal.

The Jedi gestured for her to investigate, following behind Sabé in his silent, padded stride. "These chambers, we have a conservative amount, are seldom used. In dire circumstances they may be used as sanctuaries to those under extreme Jedi protection, where their lives and covert locations are paramount. Or," Dolin paused, and she could almost sense the wry tilt of his head behind her, "opposing parties are so distrustful of neutral sanctity we have no choice but to house a figurehead here. Of course, some suites are not quite so prosaic as yours."

Although his words could almost be considered chatty, Sabé did not mind the canter, did not censure the healer's attempt to influence her. It wouldn't work, his attempt. But at least he was far more interesting than the perpetual ennui of staring at the walls and drowning in her self-deprecation. Now she refrained from physically extending her curiosity to the stack of old books on the bed. Her fingers twitched, the tips itching to open the first one. Dolin stood at her shoulder.

"Yes," he murmured, perhaps to himself, perhaps to her. "I do wonder what you have been. What you would be now."

Her fingers ceased to twitch. She stared straight ahead, the blank wall a manifestation of the stone cooling inside.

"It's a pity, how so many, especially in this Order, believe ascetic practice is their only way to serve." Dolin lifted the top book, caressing the oiled leather. She could feel his eyes on her, though she refused to look, to be drawn in. "Yes, a pity. I asked Kenobi about you, but he was very tight-lipped, even for him."

"Please, sir," Sabé said, before she even realized it. "Prevaricate no further, or leave me be." She raised her chin to him, met his gaze.

Dolin smiled, sharp teeth flashing. "Thank you, love, though I disagree with the accusation." He set the book on top the stack, tapping it with a nimble finger. "The Council feels I should only deal with the crude matter of your condition. However, I lack the imagination to prescribe utter boredom on anyone. Mentally speaking, I'm merely offering some of my personal collection to ameliorate this particular ailment."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because, Sabé, despite your recalcitrant nature, I like you."

She glanced away, feeling empty in the gut. The last thing she needed was genuine kindness.

"You have other reasons, sir," she said coldly, looking up again. "What are they?"

The sheen of Dolin's coat seemed to dull, but his face was ever serene as he bowed his head in a little nod. "Of course. To the crude matter business, though the Council has not requested it. Again, I am an inquiring being. I'm developing some theories on midichlorians, as they are a controversial presence—"

"You need more blood."

"If you would care to oblige me."

Sabé extended her arm blandly, though her brain careened with questions. If Dolin was so voracious about validating or debunking theories, there were by far more Force-sensitive beings living all around him. She could think of one in particular who would be an interesting specimen, complete with controversy and lack of self-discipline . . .

"All my intentions are related," Dolin said in his soothing hum as he extracted a small vial of her blood. She barely felt the instrument's prick, though she swore her nerves extended into the thin cylinder. "My interest in you as a person, my particular study, they reciprocate, flow into one another. Much like the Force," he added, brow ridging upward.

Sabé found it strangely hard not to smirk in return. She rolled her sleeve down, and Dolin pocketed her blood, then clasped his hands together.

"Oh yes, I should be going. Kenobi should be arriving shortly with Senator Amidala."

The quiet hum vanished into loud silence. She braced herself for an onslaught of emotions, for her insides to become a tortuous mass. But there was nothing.

"Nothing?" said Dolin.

Sabé barely glanced at the healer. Nothing. How could she feel nothing? Do nothing? It wasn't even numbness from shock, at least she did not believe so. Perhaps she could not muster the strength to react. After all, so much had happened since she'd accepted Yoda's last task, she could be emotionally exhausted and unable to properly absorb and process. Or her training had overtaken her and erected an instinctive barrier, so that she may analyze and prepare for Amidala's arrival. But then should not her mind be buzzing?

"Might I suggest you freshen up?" Dolin said.

Sabé stared at him, frowning. Despite his serene expression, the healer looked worried. Slowly the meaning of his words unfolded through her. Yes, she was a right mess. She nodded.

"Good girl," Dolin smiled briefly. He reached out and cupped her chin, but she couldn't feel his touch. "Sometimes it is the little pieces of dignity that keep us together." Then he bowed his head and disappeared through the sliding door.

* * *

As he rode the lift to the midlevel receiving bay, Obi-Wan thought of all the dangerous, horrific places he could be right now. Tortured within an inch of his life, chained to a post for some grotesque creature to feast upon, blasted to tiny little bits—all of this sounded quite good. Anything and anywhere was quite preferable to the Temple right now. The Jedi Knight pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. If only the Force would grant him a grisly lift malfunction, like a tragic plummet to the very deep bottoms of the Temple?

Of course, Obi-Wan reasoned as he exhaled into artificial serenity, his death would be a bit inconvenient. No, his selfish relief would only aggrandize the burden on others.

The lift slowed to a smooth halt. Obi-Wan straightened up as the doors whispered open. A brief wash of turbulence stirred his cloak as he strode out of the lift into the receiving bay, to all appearances a calm, businesslike Jedi. His eyes swept up the wide interior, noting the vacancies of the fleet, now dispensed to war. A sleek planetary ship with a reflecting hull was settling in the temporary lane of the bay. _A Jedi is never late nor early, _Obi-Wan thought wryly as he headed for the Nubian interior-class ship_, he arrives precisely when he means to._

Anakin had always used that excuse. Obi-Wan frowned, tried to ignore the cold pressing along his spine. He'd not seen Anakin since the Council had separated them upon arrival. After yesterday's meeting with Yoda and Mace Windu, he assumed the Padawan had been with the Senator. Obi-Wan wished he could put faith in Anakin's ability to sever ties with Padmé Amidala, but he knew the young man too well for that. The Council had been right a decade ago: the boy was too old, too attached to let go. When he awoke this morning to a still absent Anakin, his fears felt confirmed. Anakin would not be returning to the Order. Even if he intended to return, spending one last night with the Senator would not appease the Council.

But the Senator's appearance here was not about Anakin. Obi-Wan gently placed his mind in the now as the ship's ramp lowered. He'd shamefacedly informed Yoda he wished to be as detached from the Mabriee situation as possible. The green little blighter promptly put him in charge of this early evening visit.

Senator Padmé Amidala walked briskly down the small ramp, closely shadowed by her singular handmaiden Dormé. Several things struck the Jedi at once. Amidala's expression matched her wardrobe: dark and structurally stern. Her navy bodice was tight and firm around her figure, but the sleeves and skirt lent presence and power in her stride, and even her hair, though simpler than on voting days, gave her height. What really struck Obi-Wan, however, was how the handmaiden was hardly comparable to those who once served under the Queen. She was not so much a decoy and bodyguard as a companion, albeit a skilled and protective one. Inches taller than the Senator, Dormé projected a motherly yet groveling presence as she followed in Amidala's wake. Although he knew her to be a gentle, well-schooled woman, Obi-Wan felt . . . uneasy seeing her here.

"Senator," said Obi-Wan, bowing politely to Amidala.

"Jedi Kenobi." Her face and voice were terse, palpable anger broiling in her eyes. How curious she and Sabé should share such alike eyes, yet their effects were so different . . .

"If you'll follow me, please," he said, pushing the thought aside. As he turned for the lifts, he glanced at Dormé. The handmaiden was clearly uncomfortable as her eyes scanned the bay, briefly meeting Obi-Wan's before flitting by. She was not so skilled in hiding her concerns, the Jedi thought. Then he pushed the comparison away and the lift doors opened for what Obi-Wan was certain to be the most uncomfortable ride of his life.

As the lift descended, Obi-Wan studied Senator Amidala from the corner of his eye. She'd always been an interesting figure to him, becoming more and more someone to be cautious of. Yes, she had been an impressive and heartfelt leader for the Naboo. Although he generally distrusted politicians, he had liked Padmé as a person outside of the political ring. In fact, it was this that kept him from vehemently protesting Anakin's assignment to her. He trusted her to be level-headed around Anakin and firmly keep the boy's emotions from overriding the situation. Now Captain Typho's warning echoed in his head: _I'd be more worried about her doing something rash_ . . . Obi-Wan knew he'd slipped. Once again, Padmé had impressed him in battle, and he'd let the signs walk right under his notice. He'd assumed the Senator would honor Anakin's oath to the Order. What sort of irrationality drove her to marry a Jedi Padawan? Feelings were one thing, but for a person who had admirably ruled her planet and rallied in the Coruscant political ring to hackney duty in such a way . . . well, it left Obi-Wan flabbergasted. He'd tried to put himself in her place, but the problem was he did not know exactly where that was. Did she have some sort of agenda, or was this a culmination of aftereffects from battle and impending war? He didn't know, but he could hear an echo of his own words. Politicians were not to be trusted.

Amidala stood rigid beside him, stare fixed straight ahead at the closed doors. Though he had no wish to break the unpleasant silence, Obi-Wan needed to know.

"How is Anakin?" he asked quietly.

Amidala jerked as if he'd poked her with the tip of his lightsaber. "How should I know?" she snapped.

Obi-Wan frowned, alarms sounding in his head. "I'm sorry, Senator, but I have to ask. I haven't seen Anakin since we landed."

Amidala faced him, her brow creasing though she still seemed to be seething. "I only saw him once. Yesterday. Do you Jedi not have him locked in some cell here?"

The lift slowed but Obi-Wan barely noticed. "What?"

"I believe I spoke clearly enough."

The cold tightened around his spine. The lift doors hissed open, but Obi-Wan only stared at Amidala's accusing face. "You haven't seen Anakin since yesterday."

"Yes."

"What did he say to you?"

"That is between us, Jedi Kenobi." Amidala marched out of the lift, and Dormé shot Obi-Wan a furtive glance as she followed. The Jedi followed half-heartedly, his mind definitely far from the here and now. If Anakin was not at the Temple and not with his wife, then where the hell was he?

The urge to drop everything and set off in frantic search nearly overwhelmed him. Obi-Wan forced himself to focus on the Senator waiting tensely in the corridor. The situation at hand must be dealt with. Anakin would have to wait, this alarming news would have to wait.

"I'm sorry," said Obi-Wan. "I'm worried about him."

Padmé's face softened slightly. "I must remind myself you do care about him." Yet Obi-Wan still felt a sting in her words. He let it slide. Personal disagreements surrounding Anakin would not help matters, especially in these circumstances.

As Obi-Wan led the Naboo down the curving corridor, his unease intensified. He'd not seen Sabé since the incident in the healing wing, and he'd pushed her out of his thoughts (unsuccessfully). Her fate should not be his concern. Why did not Master Yoda heed his confession that Sabé's presence tended to cloud his thoughts? He could not explain exactly why, other than admitting a loss of brief friendship. Obi-Wan had to let go of many things in the past, would continue to do so in the life of a Jedi. This should not be a problem. And yet the living Force kept agitating, beckoning.

Padawan Ropjo came into view. He stood alert and quiet. Obi-Wan's chest gave a timorous stutter. He glanced at Amidala's hardened politician's face, felt a twinge of ill-will. He could see the pain and betrayal in Sabé's eyes at the mention of Amidala, the implication of her lost handmaidenhood. _Tell me, Obi-Wan. If you were dismissed from the Order, would you stop being a Jedi?_

"Senator," Obi-Wan said quietly. "If you'll allow me to enter first, I will call for you shortly."

Amidala glanced toward the closed door before leveling Obi-Wan with open distrust. But after a moment, she nodded. "Fine."

Obi-Wan inwardly steadied himself, then flicked a hand at the door. The instant he stepped through, he saw the pile of books on the bed, felt the Force shift in the chamber, and removed his personal self as his gaze settled on Sabé's back. There was something unsettling about finding her in such an unguarded state, though it was unlikely he'd surprised her. She stood toward the back, her long hair pulled over her shoulder, graceful neck exposed as she worked the thick, wet strands into a braid. He could read the tension along her lines, but he could not sense her well through the Force. She was as closed to him as he was trying to be to her.

Suddenly remembering the satchel he was carrying, Obi-Wan let it slide down his arm to the bed. "I brought your belongings down. Except your weapons, of course." Well, that felt awkward.

Sabé did not respond, but merely finished the braid before turning around. Obi-Wan sucked in a quiet breath. Physically, she appeared healthier than since she flipped him over the balcony rail on Wydrillion, but there was a blank sort of exhaustion in her dark eyes as she looked at him. It was almost like defeat. Despite her wrongs against Anakin, he knew he never wanted to see that look in her. In anyone.

"These rooms," he said, looking at anything but her, "they're prosaic guest quarters—"

"I know," Sabé said quietly. "Dolin told me."

Obi-Wan looked at her, but her eyes were already sliding away. The braid falling down her left side was simple and elegant, the fresh moisture catching the light. Her hands hung at her sides, not even a thumb fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. What had transpired in her confinement to render her so listless?

It did not concern him. But did he want to become so heartless?

"Senator Amidala is just outside."

"I know." Again, her words held an unstudied emptiness. Obi-Wan knew he should bring the Senator in now, but he could not bear to unleash Amidala's wrath upon Sabé in such a dilapidated state. She'd be crushed. When he looked at her again, she was watching him, a vague frown on her lips. Then she glanced down at the floor.

"Sabé," he said, then stopped. What was he about to say?

"Just send her in."

Obi-Wan nodded, disliking the helpless feeling lurking around his throat. Since when had he become so useless? What sort of Jedi was he to let things slip out of his control, to allow the loss simply because he didn't know what to do? He stopped turning for the door and swiveled around. Sabé lifted her gaze again, a faint spark lighting there.

"I know I've asked you before," he said, sounding clipped even to his own ears.

Sabé looked away with a small shake of the head. "If not to help you, then to help myself."

"I know that would not tempt you," Obi-Wan said. He started to take a step forward, then stopped. Distance, he had to keep his distance; he felt like he was approaching something heretical. "Sabé," he said quietly, "I'm asking you to help me. I need to help Anakin."

Sabé looked up, her brow furrowed ever-so-slightly, a hint of a person under that quiescent weariness. "For his sake, or yours?"

The question hung in the air. Obi-Wan breathed it in, swallowed it. "I know he does not concern you. He concerns me. Help _me_. We were friends once."

A fleeting, sad smile brushed her lips as she bowed her head. Then she met his gaze again, briefly, and he could see he'd shaken her. "It's funny, Skywalker asked the same of me. To help you and not think about him."

Obi-Wan's heart nearly lodged itself in his throat. "What? Anakin was here?"

"Yes. Yesterday." She appeared as disturbed as Obi-Wan felt by this. Anakin was in the Temple yesterday . . . How had he got in to see her? There was a constant watch on the chamber, each sentry was informed to alert the Council or Obi-Wan if Anakin so much as entered the corridor.

"You didn't know."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He's been missing from the Temple. The Senator has not seen him since yesterday." He took the step he hesitated before. Now he sensed was the moment to push her, even if it would not help his predicament. "Now, you _must_ help me, Sabé!"

Sabé stepped back, quite suddenly a flash of movement, a volatile spur of life. Betrayed fury sparked brightly in her eyes, fueling the trembling in her rigid frame. "Get out."

"Sabé—"

"I thought for a moment you understood, Kenobi."

Yes. "Understood?" He crossed his arms and leveled her with a cool look.

"Yes, understood!" She stepped forward, chin raised. "How can you, a Jedi, ask me to rescind my oath? If we had been friends at all, as you claim, you would not debase such friendship by using it against me!" Although this was the response he wanted, Obi-Wan winced inwardly at the confused anger in her eyes. It did not feel exactly right to be doing this, but how could he possibly leave her lifeless to Amidala's fury? Yet even as he tried to justify it, he saw her in the medical wing, completely vulnerable and beaten in a way he did understand. If only she'd given him a pleading look moments ago, he could have offered a gentler buffer for whatever the Senator had in mind. No, this way was probably for the best.

"I thought—" Sabé's voice caught and she stepped back, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. The Force seemed to fizzle out around her as she sucked in a harsh breath.

"You thought what?" Obi-Wan asked before he realized it. She was standing before him, the handmaiden emblem rising with the curve of her hip, her very presence silently screaming with humiliation and desperation. The indignation he sought to rile out of her was fading into the dispirited woman from before. "You thought what?" he repeated, realizing too late the tautness in his voice.

Sabé jerked her head in curt rejection. Then she opened her eyes, fraught hardness settling in them. "Send her in."

Obi-Wan stared, flummoxed. Maybe this had worked too well. The living Force occluded where just seconds ago it seemed to urge him out of prevarication. Now he dangled between apologizing for whatever possessed him to provoke her and chastising himself for not maintaining his distance. Yet there was definitely distance here, a chasm with craggy sides. It was distressing, to say the least, and it should not be. Right?

There was nothing he could say. Without a word, he turned for the door.

"Obi-Wan."

The choked fight in her voice stopped him, but he did not turn.

"I know it does not help, but he . . . Anakin, he doesn't want to hurt you."

It did help. A little. It also sent a chill down his back. Obi-Wan let the words wash through him, then flicked his hand at the door.

* * *

The air shifted with an inaudible click that Sabé felt from where she stood rooted, reeling in the immeasurable instant between the door being shut and sliding open. She could only see Obi-Wan's robed back, could only feel the damp weight of her braid pressing through her tunic. In that singular shift of air, she knew she must prepare for the inevitable entrance, but she only stumbled over Obi-Wan's words, the coldness in him.

The door opened, whisking the air out of her lungs. Sabé swallowed in the sudden vacuum.

Obi-Wan stepped aside and suddenly—too suddenly, it would always be too suddenly—there she was. Her Queen, her friend . . . her betrayer.

Padmé Amidala marched in, a dark, severe slice of her Queen and friend. The vacuity amplified around her, though somewhere on the edges of it, Sabé knew this moment seared through her. _"You are dismissed!"_ Blood raced through her veins, every muscle tightened in her body, elongating her spine, raising her chin, setting her jaw.

The former Queen halted before the former handmaiden. The door clicked softly into place.

Amidala did not speak. Sabé could not even if she wished. No air waited in her lungs.

Those once affectionate eyes smoldered. Finally, Amidala snapped. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

No. Not to this woman. The loss of everything stood within her dark frame. The vacuum contracted, tightening, the burning edges getting closer. There was Amidala staring coldly at her as she annulled five years of honor, but then Amidala was on her knees, soaking in her husband's blood. Sabé willed herself to stone against the tortuous sensations and visions turning her void into ash.

Her silence seemed to anger Amidala more. "Is this some sort of revenge?" she demanded. "I knew you would have difficulty readjusting, but I never thought—"

"Difficulty readjusting." Air must have entered her lungs at some point, but she never felt it, did not feel the passage now. Her words were hot and cold at once. Absently, she noted the quivering in her muscles, acknowledged the taut pain in her neck. "I wonder why."

Amidala worked her jaw, a tick imperceptible to anyone but a handmaiden. "How can you do this to me? Can you really be so selfish and so absorbed with the past?"

"_I'm_ selfish and absorbed?" Now she felt the words rip through her throat. "This has _nothing_ to do with you."

"I was right," said Amidala, smiling icily. "I was right about you, and you cannot stand it. That was always your weakness, old friend. How can you stand there and face me after what you have done?"

Sabé said nothing. Her jaw felt like burning ice.

Amidala gave a short, harsh laugh. "You want me to grant you sanctuary. How _dare_ you even think of such a request! Why in all the galaxy should I grant it?"

"Because you want to keep this quiet," said Sabé. Raising an eyebrow, "How would this look to the good citizens? The champion Senator of morality selfishly warping a Jedi Padawan to renege his duty and sacred Code—but then," and the searing flames burst through her stone core, "you never understood duty and honor."

They were back on Naboo, facing off before one another, the dismissal screaming around them.

"Your words are empty, Sabé," Amidala hissed. "You cannot vindicate this! I should have done more than dismiss you, but I was too compassionate, I see the fault of that now—"

"_Compassion?"_ Sabé stared in disbelief. It was too much; there was too much to say.

"Yes. I misjudged you. I never thought you'd be so weak as to seek revenge—"

"As I have said, this has _nothing_ to do with you! I would have killed your husband on Naboo. But I could not stand it," Sabé bit out, hating herself for ever hesitating. She pressed closer to Amidala, feeling the flames rip from her throat. "You are right. I am weak. I should have killed him on your wedding—"

Pain exploded across her right cheek, knocking her vision to the wall. Black spots danced through the grey visage, but her feet remained firm, her stance straight. The blow stamped out the fiery lacerations, leaving ash over stone. Sabé took a moment to breath. She accepted the strike. Then she raised her head to meet Amidala. Not for defiance of such castigation, but to evince herself.

Amidala stood frozen, her left hand still extended. Sabé's cheek throbbed, the only source of heat in her body. They stared at one another, and Sabé was acutely aware she was the only one breathing.

Then Amidala blinked and slowly lowered her hand. "This is what you've come to," she said quietly.

Sabé did not respond, though the words infected her.

Amidala took a step back. "I have already summoned an escort to deliver you to the Wastelands of Naboo. It is against my wishes you receive even minimal sanctuary. This privilege is only granted through your silence on the circumstances surrounding the sentence."

Again, she had nothing to say to this. All that remained was this last obligation to Yoda, this last piece of dignity to bear. It was no comfort, nor a shield to withstand the ignominy festering in her.

"I am done here." Amidala made to leave, but something, not anger, not spite, slipped from Sabé.

"Tell me one thing," she said, quiet, her own voice sounding far from her. "Do you love him?"

Amidala froze, a flicker of uncertainty in her guarded eyes. "Of course."

"Then how can you make him choose?" Sabé wondered. "How can you dishonor him with the choice between you and the life he swore to live?" The words unfurled inside her as they left her lips, a sensation like retching on an empty stomach.

Her former Queen was unreadable. The moment folded and extended upon itself. Then Amidala averted her gaze for a second, then returned Sabé a hard look. _"D'lon s'slanté."_

I am done with thee.

Sabé flinched against the repudiation of the ancient Naboo. It still burned, after all this. The executioner turned away, a stranger by sacred rite. The door did not yield.

"Jedi Kenobi."

The words jarred. Cold splashed over her. She had forgotten Obi-Wan's presence. She refused to look, to see and know he witnessed the burn on her cheek, her failure to be stone, to shield. This death was naked. There was no dignity. If only mercy had kept him from witnessing . . . She shuddered inside, though an abstract consciousness noted how still she stood.

The door opened and, haunted, Sabé only saw Amidala's departing back. _You are dismissed. D'lon s'slanté_. Over. Three times it was over. Amidala, Yoda, then Amidala again. Would she always be in another's refuting wake? Unbidden, her gaze started to shift toward Obi-Wan, but then a figure slipped by the gaping door. The handmaiden. Air punched out of her stomach. The grey walls liquefied, churning the cold inside. A warbled voice floated around her ears, impenetrable through the strange tempest. She struggled to breathe, but everything was so thick, so grey, and so cold.

"_Sabé."_

The air swayed, or she swayed, or the walls swayed. She focused on the cot's edge. There was no need to look at him, the source of the voice. Every sense was attuned to him, clarifying like the edge she stared determinedly at. He had taken a step forward, but remained so distant. She did not want to see the coldness in his blue eyes. It was enough to feel it. Too much. They—those whom refuted her—called her thick-skinned. Not even her skin could protect her, she was down to her bones.

He inhaled, slowly, gathering. She should brace for it, but she only stood there, feeling his words pierce the cloud around her before they ever left his lips.

"Don't." The cloud was sharpening, making it painful to breathe. "If I told you," she said, lifting her eyes to him. Obi-Wan's face, she knew it so well, was unreadable. No warm glow sought to comfort her. Nor should it. Inanely, she wanted to comfort him. But she could not. "If I told you," she struggled to breathe through the tiny shards in her throat, "it would hurt you."

The cloud shattered. She stepped back, gasping clear air. The cot edge pressed into the back of her knees, sharp in the way it should be. The walls stood solid and indifferent in their color. Obi-Wan, she could see his boots, did not move. She refused to meet his gaze again. She had said too much already. The question of duty did not abrade. If she let it, she might lose this lucidity.

Five seconds passed in untainted silence. Then Obi-Wan shifted, a ripple in the Force. A possibility flashed through her mind: she was crouched in the corner, trembling and fighting sobs, Obi-Wan gripped her shoulders, face so near, as he begged the truth from her. _It would hurt you too much._ His shock and lack of understanding were put aside for compassion. She could feel it. But it was only a possibility.

Obi-Wan's shift hesitated, and he said quietly, "You will say nothing else?"

It would hurt too much. She stared down at his boots, felt the flat, unmoving mass of the floor beneath her. She remembered the night on Naboo so many years ago, when he smiled through his sadness and kissed her hand in a way too quiet to be gallant. The memory hurt now, Sabé acknowledged this, but it was only pain.

"Nor will I," said Obi-Wan. He bowed and turned away. Sabé allowed her eyes to follow the swishing hem of his robe.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Took care of all those page break problems in the earlier chapters (and this one).**  
**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Obi-Wan had been in many a wilderness storm on over dozens of planets, always somehow managing to balance in torrents of howling wind and screaming rain, ice, dust, insects, anything and everything. Walking the lower canyon levels of Coruscant felt a bit riskier, though much homier and preferable to traversing horrendous planetary elements. If he allowed some folly, he would admit to enjoying the clandestine, unorthodox outings into the labyrinthine dregs of the capital planet. Tonight, however, he strode through narrow, twisting gangways and near-tunnels, feeling weary, chilled, and altogether beaten by the turbulent winds.

The Jedi Knight, senses full alert, knew the derelict alcove he casually passed was presently empty. It did not disappoint, nor did it fill him with relief. He forced his mind and emotions to remain clear and empty for this. Anticipation, any sort of predisposition, could be disastrous. He did not know. Yet even as his footsteps took him past the shadowed place of no address but he and Anakin knew in all familiarity, Obi-Wan could not deny his quickened pulse.

The message. Anakin wanted to meet him here. For what, he did not know, but Obi-Wan was astute enough to know this was absolutely clandestine. He meditated before coming. Obi-Wan did not bring anything with him but himself. Not the Council or the Order or tenuous mastership. Just Obi-Wan. He would hear Anakin out, whatever it was, and take things from there. If he could take anything at all.

A faint prickling in the Force urged him to amble back to the alcove. Vacant, but he sensed not for long. The shadows, symbiotic creatures in the variant glow of Coruscant night, closed around him. Another canyon opened up before the Jedi as he came to the slashed lines of scaffolding overlooking a forgotten speeder passage. Sheer whistling wind obscured any sounds of approach, but Obi-Wan knew no sound would be made, anyway.

He turned when the prickle sharpened. A darker shadow undulated from the narrow alcove. Obi-Wan shivered inwardly. Walking here, Anakin and Padawan had been synonymous. He could not experience the embodiment of one word without the other. But then Anakin seemed to form out of the night, and it was Anakin, every vibration in the Force, every shadowed feature kept distant from Obi-Wan, everything said, _Yes, this is Anakin_. But nothing said, _and he is your Padawan_. The severance wasn't even painful; it simply _was_. Blunt and direct.

"Anakin."

"Obi-Wan."

Not a greeting, not a challenge. Obi-Wan could not look away from the cold, shadowed face of the young man, but it burned his eyes, urging them to examine the rotting structure encasing them. Then his gaze fastened on something concrete. The Padawan braid—it was gone.

"You deserve to be told," said Anakin. So calm, so hard. "I won't explain it to you or make excuses, but—" He paused, and here Obi-Wan expected those once boyish eyes to shift, the sheepish mouth to quirk. They did not. Anakin stared directly at him, more solid than the steel beams criss-crossing in the dark above them. "You deserve to be told."

Obi-Wan waited. Clear and empty he must remain, but everything waited on tenterhooks.

"Our destinies lie elsewhere," Anakin said, taking the single stride to the alcove's edge. The myriad glow of city lights outlined his profile in iridescent blue. "My Jedi training has taken me to this turn in my path. The Order is no longer part of it. I have not," here he seemed to hold up a finger without twitching a muscle, shifting his stance, "revoked the Force or my teachings. I am not to be a Jedi, Obi-Wan. Not like you, not like any of the Order."

The silence was edged with the distant, broken whine of a dilapidated speeder some hundred meters above them. When it faded away, Anakin allowed a small, shadowed smile.

"I appreciate your silence. I will not forget it." He pulled his hood up, a movement so smooth and thick, he seemed made of black oil. "Good-bye, Obi-Wan. Perhaps our paths with cross again, perhaps not. May the Force me with you."

"And you . . ." The darkness had already swallowed Anakin again, leaving Obi-Wan alone and speaking to the wind.

* * *

There was nothing left to do.

She'd been here before. Sabé's eyes were closed. The non-color of the chambers walls were meant to be soothing, she knew, because they eliminated the physical place, became nonexistent so minds could travel beyond … But she did see. The leaves, the sunlight on the lake water, the invisible stirrings in the air, in the Force … they were all lined in silver-green, all one essence, only divided in the eye.

Cleaned, recycled air filled her lungs in a long breath, but it came from the crisp mountain air across the galaxy. There was nothing left to do but breathe it in, fill her cells, and then exhale, giving it to the leaves, and then returning to the air.

She was not here to find peace or an answer. As she sat cross-legged on the chamber floor and stood barefoot on the stone balcony overlooking the lake, she simply existed to breathe through this place of nothing. A mute point, a sliver, in existence. She didn't need to turn her head to catch the flash of silver as she took aim at her target; she did not see it, but knew it was possible that she woke calmly, no longer a handmaiden, and faced the new nothingness, nodded, and then stepped onto another path. It was possible, once.

A figure, so like her but wholly someone else, stood silently under the arched entryway of the villa. Another, lost along the knoll, gazing away over the water, had appeared before the other, but there was no real time here to measure his arrival. Maybe he had always been there. The third stood in the shadows behind the first, absorbing the silver-green sheen into further shadow. The fourth she could not see and knew she would not even if she searched. Perhaps she never should have sought him out.

If she sought peace or resolution, the figure behind her would have shifted through the shimmer, through the breeze dancing over the water. But that was an illusion, and this was not.

Sabé closed her eyes there, here. Breathe deep, without effort. She didn't need effort when there was nothing left to do.

Well, just one thing.

The figures shimmered and stilled. They faded, but she could not witness the change from being there to … not. They were still there, she sensed it in the silver-green sheen, but her focus fell to something less ethereal, something tangible, blunt. Words, concepts, oaths … they faded and shimmered like the figures, and she felt the one thing. It was not "right" or "wrong" but a must. It felt solid, draped over her shoulder, and she could see the path form before her, stretching up the knoll into the whispering trees. It was narrow and short, with an outcome that would not shatter. The Force did not need to tell her.

* * *

"You're certain."

Razak nodded. A short, curt dip of a horned chin. He never wasted energy, unless he was phasing. Then he had a flare Count Dooku found tiresome and certainly unnecessary in a fight.

The Sith Lord folded his hands behind his back in contemplation. _Good_, he thought, letting Razak stand in silence. The Balzantar's information was always as accurate as his mark. The enterprising creature seemed to have his claws everywhere, yet Dooku had never found any trace of _how_. Torture would probably out, but Razak would be useless after that. When he ceased to be useful or became a little _too_ enterprising … well, then he would die.

Dooku stared over Razak's hide-armored shoulder into the lighted pulse of Coruscant. He'd just been handed a wild card and a worrisome bid. A lesser man would have considered the information a gift, a sign the Dark side had chosen him to inherit the greatness that was to come. But he was not a fool.

Yet fools had just as much if not more of an effect on the Force.

The assassin would be in his hands. The possibilities … The sun would be glaring off the skyscrapers before he finished thinking of all the possibilities of this jewel in his hands. How far could he play her against the Skywalker problem? Or should he save her for something more subtle?

He hated repeating himself, but Dooku turned his voice, not his gaze, to Razak.

"You encountered the assassin before."

"She tracked and killed Jedi hunters."

"You did not try to kill her in turn."

"Our paths were not to cross on that day."

Dooku frowned. He wondered what day and where that had been. He could guess, of course, but it did not matter. Another creature would have needed further prompting, but Razak, his lean, muscular stature at attention, continued.

"Skilled. I could not tell if she was superbly trained or _skilled_," said Razak. His glittering orange eyes narrowed.

On the whole, Dooku did not feel that Mabriee's aptitude in the Force mattered. She could play on so many levels. Politically and emotionally with Senator Amidala, emotionally with Skywalker, and, Dooku felt certain even without Razak's report, she was connected to the Jedi Temple. Deeply connected.

The former Jedi had known about the Shadows and special "assistants" that had passed unseen through the Temple. If Mabriee indeed served a high-ranking Jedi Master, then which one? Windu was a little too direct, or—and Dooku doubted it—he was a tremendous actor. Oh, but how _wonderful_ Yoda would be. Messing so deeply when he portrayed such a cautious, inactive counsel. He could entertain himself for hours thinking of whom on the Council, or even a lower-ranked but intelligent Master, had adopted this silent deed.

Or, he could find out from the source.

Then he would know how to play her.

And, if he played her right and the Dark side served him well, he would know whether to kill Skywalker or bring him under the Count's hand.

* * *

Only days ago it would have been important to know how much time had passed while she meditated, but Sabé slowly unfolded her legs and stretched her body with only a vague nod to the fact it did not matter here. Strange, how she was out of time and displaced even now on a physical plane.

As her right side curved and her left leg muscles stretched, Sabé focused her eyes on a curved corner and breathed the treated air. Reality approached like a dim lantern across a Gungan bog. She switched sides and huffed slightly, expelling the remnant of the slap and covering the departing swish of a cloak. Those things were gone, did not matter. The weight of her braid warmed her right shoulder, the end dipping to the floor. She straightened her torso and touched the braid, unaware of the sting as she bit her lip.

Dolin Ramoul had entered not long after Obi-Wan and the senator left. What he did or said, she couldn't really remember, she had not been lucid. Had she cried? Retched? Screamed? Or had she stood motionless? She couldn't remember; it didn't matter. He had touched her cheek, his touch warm but not golden, not how it should be—she remembered thinking that. Genuine but clinical, not something almost … raw, personal, like it had meaning.

Sabé rolled her head along her shoulders. No, she would not think about that. There was no point, nothing to do there. He left. _You will say nothing … nor will I._ Turning to stone against the pain was tempting, but she did not have energy for it. She had to reserve herself. That much she pulled from Dolin's visit.

She stood up, locked her fingers, and then stretched her arms high over her head, the thick braid pressing against her neck. The healer had informed her a Naboo intelligence officer would be dispatched to transport her to the wastelands.

"Orzkal, I believe the name was," Dolin had said somewhere in that blur.

Saché.

The former handmaiden's abdomen contracted. Although it was logical the Senator would choose her former handmaiden and intelligence head for discretion over this delicate matter, Sabé suspected the selection was not coincidental. No, this was adding insult to an injury lost in a vacuum. It hurt, but it felt like a necessary, purposeful pain. She had no hope in it becoming a healing pain, or even a gift; Saché had been sideswiped by this quagmire, and Sabé wanted to rectify it. Not for her own end, because her end was a wall, the wastelands, something she did not care about. Saché's wound could not be fixed, but it should be respected.

Sabé let her arms collapse with gravity. The room spun and she briefly closed her eyes. This one thing, this one purpose that had nothing to do with duty or the Force and everything to do with fact. Then there would be nothing. It would just be her, useless, and probably consumed in her misery. Death would have been a preferable punishment. It would serve its purpose and be over.

Before she had become a handmaiden, she had not known what she would become or where she fit in the universe's scheme, but she knew there was a place somewhere, that she was working toward something. The purpose of finding that purpose … but now she would not even be searching for the path. Just standing at the edge of a field, not looking up to search, because no path was meant for her.

The deep ache in her bones had little to do with the meditation. Sabé took a deep breath and shook herself. A faint prickle alerted her to an approaching Jedi, so she turned to face the door, noting her own lack of expectation.

The door slid open and Padawan Ropjo looked briefly startled to find her waiting for him. She did not possess the foresight to know exactly when he and Jedi Knight T'lana would come for her, but Sabé sensed a small prick of satisfaction somewhere deep inside to see that flicker across the stoic Padawan's face. Other than that, all she felt was a calm fixation on the tangible and factual.

"Um—" Ropjo's gray, shallow cheeks tinted slightly. Sabé imagined she felt a stirring of sympathy for the Padawan. The Padawan was no doubt more capable of handling uneasy situations since he was assigned to her, but something about her disturbed him. Perhaps he sensed or suspected there was an underlying side to all this. She could not let him wonder too much on the circumstances; she must flit out of his existence, clear his path.

Smiling wouldn't work, nor could she think of anything to say, so Sabé tried to soothe her own nerves and keep her face reserved and hopefully not stony.

Ropjo stepped into the room with a slight dip of his smooth head. "Your escort will arrive shortly," he said. "Please." He gestured at the open door, through which Knight T'lana stood with detached authority.

So.

Sabé nodded once, then reached for her rucksack. Her fingers paused on the sturdy cloth. Obi-Wan had dropped it there. The last connection. It would be gone when she picked it up. Finished. How ludicrous to whisper, "May the Force be with you," when she picked it up. But she thought it, unable to stop herself.

With the rucksack over one shoulder, her braid over the other, Sabé faced the waiting Jedi.

* * *

Obi-Wan gazed over the long bay avenue toward the rectangular, lava-streaked view of another Coruscant sunset. Peculiar, wasn't it, how the small, enclosed world of the Temple and particularly this bay seemed to encompass the greater world of a planet into such a tiny view? He might've smiled wryly at such introversion, but Obi-Wan's face had been set too grim the past couple of days. He stood silent and waiting in the separated, confined world of the security balcony. The Jedi's sharp eyes caught the approaching vessel before it flashed briefly in the blaze of the setting sun. He did not so much as hear the stationed Padawan's verbal confirmation as absorb it.

The sleek lines of the small, interstellar cruiser were familiar (Naboo ships were becoming all-too-familiar, in Obi-Wan's opinion), but the deep silvery hull seemed to absorb the bay's lights rather than reflect them. Years of study and experience trained the Jedi's eyes to approximate ship ages, and this particular one was two decades older than anything under Naboo political service. Not that it mattered; Obi-Wan had no doubt the starship's interior lines ran as smooth and clean as its intriguing façade. He watched the ship ease onto its spindly landing gear, uncomfortably aware of the Padawan's surreptitious glance his way.

Obi-Wan riled against the urge to rub his beard. The younger Jedi—he should care to learn the apprentice's name—was only physically echoing his own thoughts. He should not be here, observing this transaction. Had he not proclaimed he would have nothing to do with this whole convoluted mess? Or _her_? That had failed two days ago—just two days?—and his resolve, if it had ever warranted such status, failed now.

A clipped, female voice in a familiar accent carried over the comm. channel. Saché Orzkal of Naboo Intelligence. Obi-Wan stirred his memory, piecing together a sketch of the former handmaiden. Another slip of a young woman, likely deadly behind her girlish laugh and mischievous smirk; only the fact she was a former handmaiden could attach the businesslike voice to the outdated impression. How much did service to Queen Amidala change a person? Obi-Wan wondered.

He shifted, unable to contain all of his discomfort. Hearing Orzkal, her accent matched to Sabé's, removed the barrier of distance the balcony provided. He remembered the young handmaiden telling him how she and Saché had grown up together, and then Sabé, blushing a little, ducked her head and said no doubt Obi-Wan would not want to hear about that. He'd had only the vaguest interest at the time, but now he wondered just how deep their friendship had run, and what all of this would mean to Sabé now.

"Copy that, Knight T'lana," said the station Padawan. He studiously ignored Obi-Wan, though the Knight was sure his intense stillness was disturbing the young Bothan.

He should not be here. But where else was he to be? Anakin was gone.

Just as his mind's eye saw Anakin disappear into the dark mire, the lift doors to the bay opened with a quick, rectangular blink. Three figures strode out, Ropjo and T'lana flanking the smaller figure in her muted gray. The Naboo ship's ramp lowered as the figures approached. Even from up here, Obi-Wan could see the weariness in Sabé's stride and slope of her shoulders. He'd not seen her since Senator Amidala's visitation, but she'd definitely been too much on his mind.

What did she mean the truth would hurt him? And why when she said it did she look like death had come upon her? It could be a mind game, but Obi-Wan doubted it. Sabé, aside from her stint as a decoy, had never shown any predilection for such prevarication. He'd been up and down the spectrum of wild possibilities. If he knew whoever had sent her after Anakin, it would hurt him. Perhaps because he would feel betrayed? If betrayal was it, then this person was a friend, ally, or someone within the Order. The last was preposterous. And yet . . . she was trained to the best of her limited abilities in the Force. Was it possible another rogue Jedi like Count Dooku was operating under the Order's blind eye? But Sabé had been adamantly disgusted by the implication of working for the Count, so an alliance with the Separatists was unlikely. Unless this rogue Jedi had another agenda, another reason ... but it was just too farfetched!

_Or maybe I want it to be_, the cynical voice whispered.

* * *

One step behind Knight T'lana's shoulder. Her place had once been behind a shoulder, she had fitted there, so certain she belonged there. Nowhere else had felt right, not before, not after. Perhaps no place ever would.

The lift doors opened into a hangar, and Sabé scanned the layout, absorbed the Nubian transport, a faded scuff on its portside curve, noted the complete absence of Council members. She was rendered obsolete by their absence. Attention could not be drawn where no eyes looked.

She should not feel a pang at this, but Sabé felt a sharp ache nonetheless. She set her jaw against it. She had no right to feel abandoned.

The small ship's ramp lowered and two figures stepped down. Sabé focused on the one on the right, remembering how Saché had been so willing to help without understanding the situation simply because Sabé had been a long-lost friend. But Sabé had betrayed that friendship in every way possible, and in doing so, had violated Saché's long ago oath to protect Amidala. The former handmaiden had completed and been released of her oath, but Sabé knew Saché still kept it close to her heart. They all did.

"Senator Amidala," said Knight T'lana with a small bow, her quiet voice carrying only as far as needed.

The Senator nodded curtly. Sabé sensed the movement rather than saw it. Her eyes were fastened on Saché, whose face was perfect, unreadable. Even when Saché's mask had been at its finest, Sabé had always been able to derive a hint of mischief or inclination from her friend. _She never had a reason to hide her self from me_.

It was tempting to look away, but that would only be a discredit to Saché, the innocent in all this.

Like someone else who she would never face again …

"Where is Master Yoda or Kenobi?" said the Senator, her voice hard and clipped.

"Forgive me, Senator," said Knight T'lana, "but I was informed you wished this transaction to be as brief and discreet as possible."

Saché's dark, sharp eyes flickered to the tall Jedi, then up toward the hangar's control balcony before returning to Sabé. She stood beside, not behind, the Senator's shoulder, and Sabé had the impression this stance was some cause for the Senator's hard manner. Saché must be aware that a subtle shift in her stance could change everything for the Senator's ease, Sabé thought.

"Fine." The Senator seemed unable to collect herself. "If you are done with—with her …"

Knight T'lana stepped to the side, leaving Sabé an open path to her former queen and friend. Sabé stepped forward. Her pulse quickened as her left boot heel touched the permacrete again, her breath wanted to hitch as her right foot pushed off. Hands folded before her, she kept her gaze fastened on Saché.

It would be easier to do this alone, without the Senator or the Jedi watching, but Sabé didn't know exactly what the Senator's plans were and Saché deserved this before the chance slipped away.

"_Aj'hat'na,_" Sabé said softly but clearly.

Saché's eyes widened slightly at the ancient words. She could stop everything, but she remained silent and unreadable.

"I will not explain my actions," said Sabé, "nor will I ask for forgiveness. But I wronged you. I betrayed your trust and your friendship. For that I am sorry. I cannot honestly say I would not betray you if I could change the past. _Aj'yaltae noy'kal don._" On the last word, Sabé turned her around. With her back and braid facing Saché, she stared at the closed lift doors, feeling the moment stretch into a timeless, displaced hole in the galaxy.

Slowly through that hole, the Jedi shifted, caught off-guard by this rite they knew not. This was not symbolism how most beings thought of it. If they thought about it, the Jedi would know they themselves operated in this way. The lightsaber appeared to be an impractical but symbolic weapon; while it did embody the Jedi's pacifist and defensive stance of guardians of peace, it was a practical and potentially deadly weapon. Absorbing blaster bolts and disarming threats meant more to a Jedi than a flashy symbol.

Sabé was presenting Saché her gift, her apology, her shame. Transforming the necessities in life, like clothing, into communication, another necessity, was embedded in the Naboo. Hair went deeper because it grew _from_ the person. It could be changed in styling but not in essence. The long contrition braid that hung down her back was the physical evidence of her betrayal and shame.

In that hole of a moment, everything stood still. Then the air stirred with the Jedi, with the faintest whisper of a blade being unsheathed. The Jedi twitched, Sabé's heart paused, and then the weight lifted off her back. Long ago, in a more brutal age, the receiver had the option of cutting the braid or stabbing the betrayer between the shoulders. Saché was not physically brutal, but she could reject Sabé here and now.

Sabé sucked in her breath. The braid was being held, this was not rejection, but in that moment, she could feel how dark and razor-like Saché's untouched rejection would have been. It licked around the edges of her consciousness, seeped into her lungs, nearly forcing her to choke.

Instead she turned, Saché and her unsheathed blade spinning into her vision. Saché's face remained unreadable, not because she was trying, Sabé could sense, but because too much was being felt and thought at once. The blade glinted under the hangar lights, nearly touching Sabé's cheek in acknowledgement. The murmur of the ship's idle engine and the susurrus of everyone breathing faded, everything blurred except for the blade and Saché's searching gaze.

Again, Sabé refused to look away. She tried to feel and project everything she couldn't say, from their first night trip down the treacherous, foggy river to the moment she saw Saché had survived the Trade Federation invasion to seeing her again on Naboo before slipping away with a lie. They were beyond confessing and crying into each other's pillow, and it would be wrong to wish for that.

Saché raised her chin slightly and took the braid firmly into her hand. Sabé wanted to close her eyes as the blade came down, but she kept her eyes raised as she bowed her head to the pressure. With a faint hiss, the blade sliced through her thick, dark hair, severing a part of her, surrendering her deed to Saché's hands. Blood rushed to her cheeks even as she felt colder and dizzy with the sudden emptiness.

At least Obi-Wan was not here to witness this, she thought distantly. Somehow she knew he would understand what had transpired was more than a bad haircut; he would know this felt like burning off the oath tattooed on her hip.

Wordlessly, Saché held the dark rope before her, weighing it. Then, carefully, she twisted and looped it into a knot few Naboo practiced but most would recognize.

"I don't believe this," the Senator muttered.

Saché did not acknowledge she heard. Sabé lifted her head out of the bow. It felt lost and unanchored.

"Fine. Let's go," said the Senator.

Now Saché glanced toward the Senator, barely disguised disbelief twitching across her face. The Senator had already turned on her heel, her dark gray and maroon skirt swishing with her purposeful stride. Saché turned to Sabé and lifted an eyebrow.

Sabé nodded. The hangar seemed to spin, a physical symptom of her purposeless, anchorless existence. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. The light outside was visibly changing from scarlet and gold to blue and purple, turning the shadows to liquid.

* * *

Obi-Wan watched the two women on the ramp. Their slender figures dissolved into silhouettes before disappearing into the hull. Runner lights flickered, the ramp retracted. He realized he had been afraid to stretch out with the Force during the transaction below. Afraid what he would find, or that he'd be found out? He tried stretching out now, but it was too late. The Force was telling him nothing, or he was subconsciously blocking whatever it was whispering.

The empty, lightheaded sensation was nothing new. Not these days. Nor was yet another layer of loss.

The transport's engine hummed and whined, the air stirred around it, and then it was slinking into the darkening mouth of Coruscant, soon to be another pinprick dancing across the night sky.

Obi-Wan watched it disappear. Something had gone … another connection, a direction, something … The Jedi wordlessly left the control room. He paused out in the corridor, arms at his sides, staring at nothing.

There was nothing left for him to do.

* * *

"She's in the cabin," Saché said as she pointed the NT-Gazer toward a mid-economy district south of the Jedi Temple.

Sabé said nothing, resting her head against the co-pilot's seat. She let Saché's first words reverberate through her mind without attaching any meaning to them. The Senator's absence had been noted when she came aboard, and it was pointless and too exhausting to try to analyze Saché's gesture to sit in the co-pilot seat or why they were headed for the blandest district on Coruscant.

She didn't want to think or feel but knew she would have to soon enough. For now she was content to let Saché have all the control and give her former friend the space and time she needed to decide the next step, if there was one.

Saché's fingers danced over the short range nav computer. After a few minutes the NT-Gazer swooped out of its thoroughlane and dipped deftly toward a canopied floating pad chain. Running lights glittered over a shiny wingtip peeking from underneath the canopy. Saché leveled the Gazer to the pad, and Sabé recognized the Senator's skyhopper. Two figures waited outside its sleek shape, a handmaiden and a guard.

Sabé caught Saché's sideways look. Then the former handmaiden keyed the comm.

"Senator."

The NT-Gazer didn't wobble as Saché kept it level and activated the ramp. Wind howled into the cabin, blowing at Sabé's uneven hair around her chin and cheeks. She heard footsteps and then the Senator was visible through the windscreen, marching out to her handmaiden and guard, dark skirts whipping behind her. The NT-Gazer keeled starboard as its ramp retracted and it lifted from the platform.

Not a word or acknowledgement for Saché. Sabé pressed her lips together, feeling a vague urge to rant for the other woman's sake. But she would not waste her energy speculating at how coldly the Senator had just alienated yet another handmaiden.

"You don't have to say it," Saché muttered as the NT-Gazer accelerated on an outbound vector.

Sabé studied the other's profile, but Saché was diligently coding something in the ship's computer and slipping into an outbound lane. The knotted braid rested between them, secure in a crash net.

The wait for hyperspace clearance took longer than Sabé was used to. Obviously, Saché's rank as an Outer planet's intelligence officer had little sway at the Core's center, even if the Senator had wished to draw attention to this flight. As they inched up in the queue and the atmosphere around them seemed marginally less chaotic, Saché slowly became less of a one-purpose pilot.

She leaned back in her seat. "I'm worried about her."

Sabé waited.

Saché turned to her, brow creased, uncertainty edging around her eyes. "We're not friends. I know you know that, but I have to say it." She paused and took a deep breath, glancing out the windscreen at lines of ships coming and going all across the galaxy. "Having said that … I know that I know very little about what has happened these past few years. Knowing you, there's a good reason, maybe several, why you won't explain any of this madness to me.

"What concerns me is right now. Amidala … I don't know where her head or spirit is right now. I'm concerned for her as the friend I once knew, but I'm also worried about how she will affect Naboo."

The comm. pinged. "NT-Gazer ID 437-KL-12 Naboo."

"Copy."

"We cannot authorize your jump vector, read."

Saché frowned. "Is there a problem, Outbound?"

"Affirmative, Gazer. There's a conflict at Vulpter, we're rerouting. Stand by for new coordinates."

Saché pursed her lips. "I would prefer to reroute myself, Outbound."

"Negative, Gazer. This is out of my control."

"What conflict at Vulpter could possibly mean—"

The controller's sighed echoed through the comm. "Ma'am, I don't really have the authority to say. We just got the news. It sounds bad. More uprising, but by the sounds of it, there's quite a bit of—sorry. No. I can't say. Stand by, please."

Saché scowled. "Copy that."

Sabé had sat up at the controller's voice. Something about it scratched at the back of her mind. Its unpleasantness didn't bother her. It was sharp, a little razored, probably due to vocal chord shaping, and his tone was that of someone near the end of his shift. She frowned. There was nothing _wrong_ with that …

"Vulpter's Deep Core," Saché muttered, shaking her head. "It's not possible the Separatists have attacked so close, is it?"

Sabé didn't answer. It didn't feel right, but she was so far out of the loop, she'd nearly forgotten about the upheaval.

The nav computer beeped and the new coordinates flickered onto the screen. Saché clucked her tongue at them and hit the comm. again. "Outbound, this is NT-Gazer 437-KL-12 Naboo. Received your coordinates. Seems a bit of an unnecessary detour, copy."

"Ma'am, I don't have time for this," said the irritated controller. "Frankly, I don't care if you fly right into the fray, but officially, this is your jump or you can turn around."

Saché rolled her eyes, reminding Sabé more of the girl back on Naboo. "Copy. Setting new coordinates now. Mouthy little creep, isn't he?"

Sabé almost smirked and allowed herself a shrug, mostly to cover the ill feeling in her gut. Something wasn't right. She tried to reach out to the Force … but it felt like grasping at air, an almost imperceptible fog. Was she losing her tenuous aptitude already? She knew her connection was always strongest with Yoda or meditating in the Temple, but those weren't her only connections. The Force was everywhere, in everything—it was just more concentrated there. If she was having difficulties connecting, it was her fault, she must be subconsciously blocking it, or just too exhausted …

The Gazer changed its vector, but Sabé noticed the hyperflashes of departing ships on their previous jump point. _That's odd_.

Saché must've had the same thought, because she pinged Outbound control again and asked about the other ships. The same controller came back, clearly irritated.

"Look, if you're not going to cooperate, I can call planetary control to escort you back to Coruscant. We had to split the re-routes. You'll still get where you're going, unless I call planetary control."

"Sorry, Outbound, I just wanted to confirm."

The comm. clicked loudly. A few minutes later, the Gazer's engines rose in pitch and the stars stretched into long lines.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter Nineteen_

Space spiraled into a mottled limbo, suspending them from reach of outside worlds. Sabé stared into it, feeling like a band that had just been stretched past snapping point and now lay finished and discarded on the floor.

Saché sighed and leaned back in her seat. A minute of silence hung between them, and then she tapped the edge of the control panel.

"So." Another pause. "You are being taken to the wastelands."

"Yes." Sabé's throat felt dry and itchy, but she resisted the urge to clear it. Too much noise, too much effort.

Saché pressed her lips together, then turned to Sabé, her jaw decidedly businesslike but her dark, familiar eyes uncertain and hesitant. "Most of the … particulars have been taken care of."

Sabé knew what her old friend was trying to say, and she could make it easier, but her mouth was dried shut. When a person was sent to the wastelands, he or she was effectively erased from society. The wastelands weren't a prison or retreat or rehabilitation center. Those places served a purpose, as did those who occupied them. You vanished. You didn't die or go 'missing.' Those people had records, legacies, trails. All records of her would disappear. Any money or property she had would be absorbed by charity without bearing the tax or records, with a certain percentage going toward the wastelands. Throughout Naboo's history, some had protested that family members should inherit 'lost' money and property, but it was always agreed that the wastelands would become dumping grounds for those victimized by conniving family members (not that anyone wanted to admit any Naboo would stoop to such measures).

But her family would realize what had happened. When her share in her father's guild disappeared and all evidence of her apart from their own memories vanished … they would know.

Sabé closed her eyes and bit her inner lip.

"Do you … do you want me to talk to them?" Saché asked quietly.

"No." She sucked in a breath through her nose and looked pointedly at the other woman. "You're not allowed."

"I know." Matter-of-fact, so like Saché.

Sabé looked away at the vortex of hyperspace. Would she forever be left in hyperspace? That's what the wastelands were, another displaced emptiness, only it rarely carried a being anywhere beyond the carved void. No defined term, no tasks. Prisoners across the galaxy were often employed to manufacture, assemble, or repair items or provide services; they were giving back to society. Stripping her of even that … the Senator had chosen her punishment well, and the former handmaiden doubted her former queen would issue a pardon.

Saché sighed. "I wonder if the old Sabé is still in there."

Looking down at the hands folded in her lap, Sabé thought, "I don't even know the answer to that."

"Or you're afraid of it."

Sabé looked up sharply—she'd spoken aloud. Then she quickly faced the hyperspace swirl. Saché had always known her so well.

In the silence that fell between them, Saché reached over to the knotted braid, soon to be the only evidence of Sabé's deed and existence. Delicately, as if the thick weave was made of glass, Saché picked up the braid, her brow furrowed as she studied it with the same intensity she used years ago on Queen Amidala's braids. Sabé's stomached lurched; she looked away into the hyper-void, hoping to become hypnotized by stars mutated into lines that dissolved into warbled swirls. It was unwise to stare into it for long, like staring into a sun …

"She didn't tell me much," Saché said, after how long, Sabé didn't know. The other woman's voice was quiet, but it banged against the hum of the engines. "And I know you won't tell me much."

Sabé fought to pull out of the magnetic abyss. Dizziness swept up from her stomach, pushed up through her head and out her eyes. Saché had set the contrition knot down again and seemed to be looking at Sabé's ear rather than her face.

"What did she tell you?"

Saché's shoulders relaxed slightly, then tensed up. She kept her eyes fastened just far enough away from Sabé. "Well … that she married Jedi Skywalker, for one. _That_is baffling."

"Have you met him?"

"No." Saché scowled. "But I've kept tabs on her, and, of course, there was the wedding. I still don't understand it, on his part. Aren't Jedi celibate? I very much remember money being exchanged on this."

"Yes," Sabé said, to cover the sting in her chest. Saché was not trying to joke or reminisce over a night so full of relief and celebration, and perhaps that's what hurt so much. She wasn't avoiding it, nor was she trying to soothe over their wound.

"Naboo has become a sort of moral compass these past couple of years," Saché went on. "When this gets out, and it will, because neither of them seems particularly skilled at discretion anymore, despite their 'secret wedding'—Naboo's going to lose what pull it does have in the Senate. Our ideas will be preceded by 'there's that renegade Senator from Naboo with her renegade Jedi husband.'"

Saché shook her head, pushed an imaginary loose hair away from her face. The cabin lights glinted off her dark, tight bun. She pressed her lips together, gave her head another shake, and let her eyes roam for a minute before looking at Sabé's ear again. Now, Sabé sensed, she would say what she truly wanted to say.

"You … it's true you tried to kill Skywalker." Saché said it flatly, but Sabé could read the miniscule hope there, a hint of a question, as if Sabé could deny it.

"Yes."

Saché's face became unreadable for a long moment, now that reality was undeniable. "You won't tell me why, of course."

Sabé just tried to meet her former friend's gaze. Of course she wouldn't tell. Nor would she say, _He killed innocent and not-so-innocent people, and Amidala knew this and still married him. He would've killed me, too, understandably, but he had to hurt me first._

"You have your reasons."

"Yes." Sabé waited until Saché met her gaze. "But I will not justify them."

Saché's appeared to be the careful study of blankness, then she tilted her head to the side. "You know, I think there's very much the old Sabé in you. Just a demented hyperbole of the old girl."

Sabé raised an eyebrow. In that instant, she saw at seventeen-year-old Saché throwing her a cross-eyed look from underneath her cowl as they listened to Sio Bibble blather relentlessly in the throne room in Theed. Sigh-o Babble, Saché used to mutter behind closed doors …

"I should've never left Naboo without telling you first," Sabé said quietly. Though her eyes were dry, she felt them tighten, as if searching for a release.

"Yes. You should have."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

They stared at one another, and Sabé remembered more clearly than ever how a strange five-year-old girl had come up to her in the village's common pasture, stood with her hands on her hips, wildflowers tangled in her hair, and declared, "I just got here, and you're going to help me get into Old Man Torti's cabinet, and_then_ we'll be friends, you'll see." Sabé who had been lying on her stomach, studying the wriggling adventure of two furry wollipurs in the grass, had only hesitated a moment. The dirtied, hemmed trousers and wild hair spoke trouble, but Saché had been so sure and Sabé so bored and wishing it wasn't a school holiday that she'd jumped to her feet. She could see a path of trouble under Saché's feet, but it had felt right somehow …

Then Saché had stormed into the Thasyin house, upset because her parents believed her to be too immature for Theed. They finally relented after Sabé spoke to them. The girls plotted it out beforehand. The training would "sort out the mischievous attribute," and Sabé would be a "guiding influence." Yet Sabé had an equal hand in the pranks, and now … now Sabé was the banished one and Saché carried a delicate but heavy responsibility in the planet's security.

Sabé forced her mind back to the present, back to the woman studying her intently. It was painfully tempting to think about the past, when things were simpler, she was so sure of her place and not concerned for her fate—but it would be cruel to reminisce, because the present right now was riding hard the edge of unbearable—

The ship shuddered. Sabé's senses jumped to the present as the guidance panel blurted in alarm and Saché swore fiercely.

"What's—"

The Gazer jerked and lines stretched across the viewscreen, shook, and turned into distant stars and the infinite void hyperspace had been hiding them from.

Saché scrambled over the panel, shaking her head and muttering. "We were due for real space in two minutes, but—" The radar blinked erratically. "—I think—look—do you see anything? Anyone?"

Sabé was already looking, heart pounding in her ears as she tried to stretch out with the Force. "You don't think it was a net, do you?"

"I don't know, they're very unreliable, pirates rarely use them, it would take some amazing planning and organizing—it's pinpoint coordinates—" Saché's stopped, and Sabé's stomach clenched into an icy fist. They stared at one another. There was no need to say it. Together, they scanned the viewscreen as the radar continued to seizure.

_We were due out just skirting the edge of the Koornacht Cluster_, Sabé thought quickly. What did she know about this region? _Not much_ … No one did. It was Deep Core but sparsely populated and difficult to navigate through.

"How about some new coordinates?" Sabé muttered.

"I'm trying, but my instruments are—"

"What was—?" Sabé held the question and concentrated on what had flickered across her eyes and mind, near the top left corner of the viewscreen. The stars were distant, but the Koornacht Cluster, if one looked longer than a second but did not look directly _into_ it, could make out a filmy sort of fog among the scattered stars. Closer suns beamed almost lazily through the fog, which had the disorienting affect of neither appearing close or far away.

_Concentrate_. Sabé blocked the instrumental sounds and Saché's cursing as she focused on whatever had caught her attention. It seemed to form under or behind space, like an object coming out from behind a curtain. Soaking up whatever distant light hit it, the structure's rotation was nearly imperceptible. No lights flickered around the cross-shaped paneling, so she could not be certain of its shape, but Sabé had a sinking feeling it was indeed an obscure but effective jump net. Which meant someone was bound to show up any moment now.

"Saché …"

"I will punch you if you finish that thought," the other snapped.

Sabé glanced over to find Saché removing a plate and exposing the underbelly of the control panel.

"Is there anyone else you tried to kill that I should know about?"

"No. They're dead."

Saché paused and glanced up. "Not sure whether to be relieved or bothered by that."

"What are you doing?"

"A little bypassing. If I can jump us out of here, even, say, a little to the left, I can get us back online and out of here before whoever wants us dead shows up."

Sabé mentally swore and turned back to the viewscreen. One of the mechanics in the royal hangar had taken a shine to Saché years ago, much to the chagrin of Captain Panaka. Hotwiring was generally frowned upon, even if it wasn't to lift palace property or skirt security nets. Obviously Saché had expanded her knowledge, and Sabé wondered how many other systems beyond Naboo ships Saché could manipulate.

_So much about her I don't know_, she thought sadly, for a moment forgetting the present situation. The fear in her chest sank under a leaden sorrow that she would not have a chance to know Saché again.

The lights flickered and Saché mumbled something as she peered deep inside the control panel. Then a tremble rolled up from the stern and Sabé had a very bad feeling. The radar screamed and went dead.

"That's bad." Saché sat up and scratched the tip of her nose. She slammed the panel plate shut and grabbed the manual controls.

The Gazer bucked, keeled starboard, and then bucked violently to port against Saché's guidance before grinding to a halt.

"Locked," Sabé bit out.

"You know, it's common courtesy to let your catch see you," Saché said with half-hearted air.

"Why don't you mention it when they come aboard?"

Saché removed the blaster from her hip holster. "Think I will, now you mention it." She stood up, stretched an arm to a small compartment above the viewscreen and removed another blaster. After she checked the battery, she tossed it to Sabé and started toward the cockpit entrance.

Sabé gripped the blaster. Saché had tossed it to her without thought. A level of trust still existed between them. A tightness enveloped her as she stood up. Whatever was about to happen, she would see Saché through it.

The Gazer shuddered with a dull, heavy thud near the entrance. Saché's jaw visibly clenched as she held her blaster ready. The lights flickered again and the hair along Sabé's neck stood on end as a pulse disengaged the ship's gangway circuit. She wanted to place herself between Saché and the intruder, but the other woman was locked in her position and Sabé would only break her focus. Instead, she moved to the left side, noting all the tight angles a missed shot could ricochet off of and make the situation very bad very quickly.

There was a faint click from beyond the hull, and then two long seconds of nothing. Sabé tried to reach out to the Force, but it slipped away, leaving a trail of frustration. She took a deep breath—_Don't think about that, it'll make things worse—_

The gangway opened—Saché shifted, ready to spring—Sabé's mind went deliciously blank as her muscles took over—the shadowy flicker of movement preceded their predator's entrance—

Saché fired, the sharp, short whine exploding in Sabé's ears. Her finger tightened and she saw Anakin Skywalker whirl around, eyes red with rage, before he collapsed against Padmé. Then her vision snapped back into place as the twin bolts disappeared into the figure. Absorbed, her mind started to whisper—but then—

A red bolt flashed—Saché cried out—dropped—

NO! Sabé fired at the same moment blue flashed toward her—

Pain, then nothing.

* * *

A hiss and beat signaled Razak that the air decompression was complete. He didn't spare a glance to the body now floating outside the NT-Gazer's hull, though he did pass the ship a look, promising to return for it. The small nob of an instrument, fastened just under the nook for a disengaged drag fin, gave a quick yellow link. It was not as thorough as a cloaking device, but it caused less disruption than a scrambler. With so little traffic passing through the Koornacht Cluster, he doubted the pseudo-cloaker even had a need, but he wasn't about to give the NT-Gazer away if he didn't have to.

Being resourceful and utilizing both living and material assets were at the core of Razak's philosophy. No honor code, that was for sure. Honor codes got in the way. He'd seen what they did to others in this business of skillful, hired help. It led to shot backs, betrayal, and complications in tense situations. Some employers respected honor codes; it boiled down to misplaced trust in the code and hired help. If someone didn't take advantage of your honorable philosophy, that code would take care of you. And how did you blast a personal code without hitting yourself?

Razak settled into the crash seat, flexed his double-jointed fingers over his skiff's controls.

This had been an easy assignment. Smooth, as the Count's tended to be. The man had a taste for power and the flamboyant, but he kept the latter reserved for special occasions. Well-connected, well-funded, and well-minded … that was how Razak liked them. Of course, he didn't trust the Count anymore than the Count trusted him. The moment Razak took a misstep or ceased to be useful, the Count would no doubt kill him—but Razak intended to be long gone by then. And the Count knew this, too, because Razak believed in an upfront working relationship.

He was not in this for the bloodthirst, like so many out there, nor did he have naïve aspirations of striking the right job and retiring on some paradise moon, surrounded by concubines, riches, and not a care in the galaxy. That was boring and stupid. No, he was good, this was interesting, and he intended to be where the power was at.

He ran a thin tongue over his pointed teeth as he powered the _No Drop_'s engines and angled the skiff toward Kutag, it's sun, Doornik-881, nothing more than another hazy orb in the distance.

The power certainly was not where it once was, and the galaxy was slowly starting to catch on. Razak would ride ahead of the crest. The Count was not his only present employer, and Razak had a mind enough to know the Count would not be pleased where else Razak was dipping his claws. Oh yes, Razak knew the power was not necessarily seeping out of the Republic. In fact, it was gathering at its core, and he wondered almost absently how the rocks would shatter when that wave punched against the shoreline.

But he was not about to underestimate the Count, either.

It would almost be a pity when that wave hit the shore. Both his top employers were content to let Razak take other jobs between their assignments because they understood the need to weave and gather—his assets would become theirs—and he was more than happy to take advantage of their own. A symbiotic relationship, if one wanted to get warm and fuzzy about it. But when it all broke loose, he would doubted he would have quite as many opportunities. He might even have to make a life or death alliance choice.

Razak flipped to autopilot and unfolded his taut limbs from the crash seat. He hadn't bothered closing the cockpit to the other compartments. Idly, he ambled over to the prone figure strapped on a crash bench aft of the 'fresher closet. He crouched, the back claw behind each heel rising as his legs folded. He tilted his head to the side, scanning the unconscious woman. With the claw of his index digit, he moved the uneven hair away from her face. A faint red line marked his path across her nose and cheek.

This small human had captured and killed a top bounty hunter. The Slissian had not been an ally or comrade, Razak never had those, but she had been a partner and sort of crosshair on a few assignments. She was out for blood. Killing Jedi Padawans must have been the ultimate thrill for her (it was a job full of opportunities for Razak). This was what happened to the thrill-seekers, Razak thought. They wound up dead at the hands of someone who popped out of nothingness.

Sabé Mabriee. A royal bodyguard that disappeared and then reappeared on the trail of a few showy mercenaries. She used practical tactics, found the best pebble to drop in a pond causing the least amount of ripple. No doubt she overpowered the Slissian mercenary using tactics not dissimilar from Razak's own.

He grinned as he stared at the still, crumpled form. The foolish believed in showing themselves to their enemy, whether it be for the challenge, fairness, or poetic element. Not Razak. Why open himself like that? It was far more practical to use his pin-thin camera scope to peer into the NT-Gazer's gangway, spot his capture, and know exactly how and where to shoot before exposing himself. From what he'd seen of Mabriee and knew of the Naboo agent, they would have marked him in the time it took to enter, assess, and shoot.

The mercenary pinched the camera scope from his hide vest pocket, rolling the thin instrument between two clawed fingers. It didn't cost that much, but it paid for itself over and over. How bizarre and saddening that it was not utilized by more? Then again, he would have more competition …

The woman twitched. Yes, she was due to come out of the stun effect soon. Razak stood up, his armor creaking along his joints. Frob'plar hide absorbed blaster bolts better than any synthetic armor. Pity no one had the foresight to save a few for breeding and manufacturing purposes before the species was wiped out. He'd only procured this set by beheading its previous wearer.

Razak retrieved the small kit from an overhead compartment. Mabriee twitched again, murmured. She was no danger. He had her strapped immobile on the bench, but the Count seemed to agree that captives were easier unconscious. No need to feed or listen to them.

The Count had given him a "preferred solution." Razak, if he wanted to take the time or energy, could analyze it, but he didn't care. If it kept her out, that was fine.

He removed the cap from the syringe and folded himself down. The needle glinted in red-cast interior light. Pressing a claw against her inner arm, he coaxed a vein toward the surface, absently marveling at her delicate build. He never underestimated someone by their appearance (in his early days, he was nearly incapacitated by a tiny creature not even a meter tall), but every now then he wondered about all the different forms of training that culminated into seemingly innocuous weapons.

Then he pushed the needle into her vein. The clear solution tightened her arm muscles before she went utterly still.

Time to let the Count know he was on his way.

* * *

Over the past decade, Obi-Wan had grown somewhat used to the curious eyes that tended to follow his travels through the Jedi Temple. He doubted he would ever be comfortable with the scrutiny and speculation, but he'd come to accept it as an element of training Anakin Skywalker, the potential Chosen One, and how he'd come to that position. If he was walking alone, he could usually pass unnoticed; Anakin had a tendency to command all eyes to him and usually managed to 'accidentally' overstep Obi-Wan's shoulder because 'his legs were longer.' The older Jedi pretended to pay the following gazes no mind, so most stares and furtive glances came from Padawans and younglings.

But now Obi-Wan walked alone.

And all eyes followed him.

Obi-Wan had taken to service passages and obscure, roundabout corridors as much as possible. Although Jedi were imbued with the art of discretion from an early age, word of Anakin's departure from the Order had gotten around these past couple of days. No one had approached him about it, but the usually serene haven buzzed with heady whispers, its walls were alive with wondering minds. How far the speculation went, Obi-Wan didn't know, nor did he care to find out. Did they think Anakin left or was forced out? Obi-Wan supposed he should clarify that Anakin left on his own accord, but that did not seem entirely accurate of the Council's stance and decision, had they been given the chance to motion and approve the former Padawan's dismissal.

Furthermore—and Obi-Wan loathed himself for it—he was not entirely certain Anakin deserved a clean break. Looking at the facts, both great and small, seeing how they worked together to form the Unifying Force … he was good at that, but it was tempting to dwell in the Living Force already lost in the past. Whenever he entered the empty apartment, Obi-Wan only felt the vacuum of memories of Anakin—insolent, mischievous, astounding, volatile … and sincere. Whatever Anakin was at any given moment, he was genuine and sincere. Pure.

Even when he was lying. Anakin usually lied for a greater reason. Even when it was selfish, the ultimate intent had a serving cause.

Well, usually.

The apartment had become a suffocating trap, so Obi-Wan sought peace in meditation chambers, the Room of a Thousand Waterfalls, buried and distracted in the Archives … to no avail. Once out in the corridors, he wanted to hide from the wondering gazes, the murmurs of those who were saying they'd expected this all along or wanted to express their concern. But he couldn't hide. Nor could he run, as yet another journey through the Temple was proving.

Obi-Wan found himself wandering down one of the lesser used service passages. The door on the end was open to a greater chamber beyond, and as he neared it, he realized it was one of the reserve hangars. Lights were on, and he could faintly hear the whir of a maintenance droid. This hangar he'd only occasioned once or twice before for missions that weren't on record. Seasoned Knights and Masters were aware of the unmarked Jedi fleet, and although it was not directly said, those off-the-record missions were becoming more frequent these past few years. (Of course, how could you accurately measure that without the record?)

The frequency was about to increase, Obi-Wan was willing to bet. Outside the Temple's great walls, Coruscant was vibrating with news bigger than the dissension of a Jedi Padawan. Battle had broken on the Outer Rim, and several more worlds had announced their intentions to join the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

The galaxy was exploding around him, and yet all Obi-Wan could do was wander aimlessly. It had only just occurred to him a couple hours earlier as he'd emerged from the Room of a Thousand Waterfalls, after an only somewhat productive meditation, what Anakin's failure to become a Jedi would mean beyond Obi-Wan's emotions and personal misgivings.

Jedi Knights were not deemed failures if their Padawans did not succeed, but Obi-Wan knew his failure in training Anakin was just short of disaster. Was the silence by the Council actually a sign they were re-assessing Obi-Wan's own condition as a Jedi? Would he be taken off active duty? It had been so long since Obi-Wan had cause to be concerned for his own status within the Jedi Order, and the once pestering fear in his past started to worry him. If the Council thought he would better serve the Order off the active list, Obi-Wan would obey them accordingly. It stung, but he could see reasoning behind it. Perhaps it would be better to let him sort things out before diving into the brink of war. Yet wouldn't it be better to not let him sit and stew?

_It does not matter_, he told himself. It was not about him, Obi-Wan, but about the Order and the Republic. Rushing off to escape the void Anakin had left behind was entirely the wrong reason to embark on a mission. And, Obi-Wan knew his Padawan's loss would only be more poignant out there.

Add into the mix that stubborn, tiny hope he could somehow bring Anakin back.

Obi-Wan paused in the entrance to the hangar. Expertly-maintained scuffed hulls shone dully under illumination banks. His eyes fastened immediately on the practical lines of the Lorian and he swallowed against a dry throat. The small craft rested on its landing spokes, the ramp was lowered, and its inside glowed from soft service lights. Obi-Wan stepped forward, both repulsed and mesmerized by the sight of it.

A service droid wheeled around the Lorian's bow and beeped, but the Jedi paid it no mind. It had been two days since Sabé had left for her exile on Naboo. He'd woken up that night in a cold sweat, too uneasy for having placed himself in a sleep trance (regular sleep seemed like an impossible dream). The image of her lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor had been imprinted in his mind until dawn, a lasting vestige of what Anakin had done. Yet it had felt fresh that night, and his sleep trance should have cleared his mind every night.

Staring at the Lorian now, Obi-Wan pushed the chilling scene from his mind and stepped toward the ship. The droid beeped pointedly, but the Jedi ignored it. He felt another presence lurking nearby, like a tiny animal peering from behind a tree, uncertain whether an intruder was friend or foe.

"Hello, Kailje," Obi-Wan said quietly, turning toward the presence.

A jumpsuit-clad, petite figure slowly came around the Lorian's stern, and Obi-Wan caught a whiff of grease, cleaner, and flowery perfume. A heart-shaped, pale blue face with large, dark eyes smiled shyly at Obi-Wan.

"Hi, Knight Kenobi," said Kailje, her round cheeks brightening. Her navy jumpsuit was covered with darker streaks, and her small waist was obscured by a utility belt from which hung a datapad, spanner, and various tools. A short, thick shock of rusty, curly hair topped her head, and Obi-Wan would not have been surprised to find a cocktail of maintenance chemicals lost in the fray.

The maintenance droid warbled, tilted its narrow head, and then wheeled off around the Lorian's bow again.

"What brings you down here?" Kailje asked, one small but sturdy hand brushing the Lorian's hull as she stepped toward him. "You're not taking one of these out, are you?" Her eyes, already large, widened. "No one told me—I haven't got anyone prepped yet!"

"No, no, you're fine," Obi-Wan said soothingly. "I was just … out for a stroll."

"Oh, well …" Kailje deflated and inhaled. Obi-Wan absorbed her energy, which was a strange but refreshing mixture of openness and shyness that bubbled around the edges of his consciousness. She was not Force-sensitive, one of the few in the Jedi Temple. About twelve years ago, Knight Borto Honna learned she had a niece, whose parents' will bequeathed the girl to the Jedi upon their death. Honna, like nearly all Jedi, had no real ties to her family, but the Morlachi people took heritage very seriously. Had Honna refused Kailje, it would have essentially brought Morlach at war with the Republic.

Kailje, for her part, had taken to the Temple, and Obi-Wan supposed the Temple had taken to her. He didn't know who exactly had taken her under their wing, since Honna was an active duty Knight, but the child had found her place in the hangars and with the service droids. After a failed attempt to enroll her in a Coruscant academy, the Jedi Masters let the shy girl help and oversee the droids. Obi-Wan knew that although the girl was a flittering presence, many Jedi appreciated a living touch to the very mechanical atmosphere of the service docks.

The girl certainly had a knack for mechanics. Obi-Wan had on occasion observed her chattering and humming away to the droids as if they were living beings, her closest friends. She usually clammed up or hid from people, though over the years, she'd become much more approachable and occasionally prone to chatter.

If Anakin wasn't with him. One would think that two tinkerers would get on famously, but Anakin, on the few occasions the two had interacted, had been a little antagonistic. He was quick to point out when Kaijle was wrong or did not figure out the problem fast enough. Obi-Wan had sensed some resentment buried in Anakin: Kaijle's place at the Temple was unchallenged and she was not even Force-sensitive, whereas Anakin always seemed to be on shaky ground with the Jedi Council. So, Obi-Wan had made it a point to himself to offer encouragement to Kaijle when he could without looking like he was blatantly apologizing for Anakin's brusqueness (though he had apologized on occasion).

Kaijle's black, luminous eyes followed his gaze to the Lorian.

"New acquisition, she just came in a few days ago," she said, patting its conservative wing. "I like her. You don't see many of them around anymore—though I have, every now and then." She stepped toward the ramp, her boots thumping lightly.

Obi-Wan felt compelled to follow her.

The Lorian was empty and quiet, as if nothing terrible had occurred between its bulkheads. He stood just inside the opened ramp. What was he expecting? Some great moment of clarity? A tiny detail he might have missed?

"This is a good ship," Kaijle said, headed for the cockpit. "Not flashy or full of wasted juice. She's a clean, steady fly, I bet. Practical. That's probably why those covert ops people use them."

She slipped into the pilot's chair, blue fingers dancing across the control panel without touching any of the buttons. "Yep, a good fly, I bet."

"What are you prepping her for? A test flight?" Obi-Wan said, trying to sound nonchalant. Kaijle clearly lived in her own little world without connecting the Lorian to the latest Temple murmurs.

Kaijle nearly choked on a hysterical laugh. She clutched her chest and shook her head, a thin white rim showing around her eyes. "No! No, no, not me! I don't want to fall out of the sky!"

Obi-Wan chided himself. He'd forgotten Kaijle had an intense fear of flying.

"No," and Kaijle swallowed, shuddered, and then bubbled back to life. "Just cleaning her out and checking things over. Not that there was much to do. Whoever had this before us knew how to take care of her. Of course, Deetee found some blood deposits—Are you okay, Knight Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan blinked, then offered the girl a tight smile. "Sorry, I'm fine, Kaijle." He remembered scrubbing out the dried streaks and pools of their blood. Apparently he'd missed a few spots.

"You've been checking things over?" he said after a moment as Kaijle bent her head to check the datapad on her belt.

"Yep. Erased the nav history, any com-calls, that sort of thing. Wasn't much on there to begin with, though—_hey_."

Kaijle stopped, then bent low, her nose nearly touching the bottom front of the control panel. Obi-Wan could not imagine what held her so transfixed, and it was a good five seconds before she sat up, her white lips quirked to the side, young brow furrowed.

"That's odd," she said, then shrugged and ducked back down to her datapad.

"What is?"

Kaijle started, as if she'd forgotten Obi-Wan was even there. "Oh! Nothing, really. There's just this mark down there. A little sigil. I saw it before on a Lorian a few years ago. Probably one of the builders left a mark on every ship he built, they do that sometimes, you know."

Obi-Wan stepped forward and bent down, peering at the jointed curve where the floor and control panel met. His shadow almost obscured it, but there, thinly etched in the panel, were two slashes that crossed near their top ends. The bottom ends curved inward. They might have been scratches if not for the even perfection of their mark.

"You've seen this before?" he said, touching the sigil. He could feel no surface change under his fingertips.

"Yep. On a Lorian, too."

"When was this?" Could this be a clue? Some way to discover who was behind Sabé's actions? Was it a guild or clan symbol?

Kaijle shrugged. "Dunno, a few years ago." She tilted her head to the side, screwed up her face in concentration. "We had a couple ships come in, I helped with the upgrades. They weren't from the usual fleets. I remember seeing this mark on them, though."

Obi-Wan frowned and stood up, staring out of the viewscreen. Was it possible this was the same ship? If so, how did it come into Jedi hands before?

Kaijle's humming brought Obi-Wan back. She had her datapad plugged into the control panel, its screen flickered rapidly.

"You cleared out the history?" he said, trying to sound calm.

Kaijle jumped, as if she'd forgotten him again. An apologetic smile flitted across her face before she nodded. "Yep. Encrypted stuff, too. Can't access that, but I can sure delete it. Thought it would take me hours, but the system's aligned with ours, just tweaked a bit, so I had it in a pinch."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached out to the Force to steady his racing thoughts and heart. No, he needed to clear his head and not make rash, wild assumptions. But it was difficult not to feel the pull of two Lorians—older ships favored by Republic ops—bearing the same mark, one upgraded a few years ago by the Jedi and now this one's internal memory and comm. aligned with the Jedi's system … Possibilities formed out of the melee in his mind, and the rational, hopeful part of his mind argued these were ridiculous and the product of stress, lack of sleep, and a succession of very bad days.

Was it possible this Lorian was part of the off-the-record fleet? It was quietly acknowledged among the older Jedi that some Knights and Masters operated 'without assignments.' Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had completed missions of that sort, but it was also acknowledged in a not-talked-about way that there were even a select few who held very specialized positions in the Order. But there was no evidence and no real need to speculate. Whispers that the tradition of Jedi investigators and consulars were better left to the shadows. It made sense that the Jedi Council may be called to serve the Force beyond clandestine assignments for the Republic, or even within the Order.

But a bridge was forming … And Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably over how the pieces could fit together. He had not made his distrust for political officers of the Republic a secret, but Obi-Wan did not want to indulge his misgivings and cloud his judgment. Yet given the disturbing ripples of conflict and battle erupting around him, he did not find it a great leap to suspect the Lorian and Sabé were a link to treachery within the Republic.

The Separatist movement had not been one of impulsion or without certain … regard in government or business factions. Jedi missions more often centered around entanglements connecting systems, businesses, and guilds than anything else. Count Dooku had been a high-ranking, deeply knowledgeable Jedi Master and now obviously ran deep in commerce and government alike. He would have known about the off-record fleet, quite possibly how to infiltrate the Order under its very nose and know how to twist it to his best advantage without bringing the entire Jedi Order against him—

Okay, maybe not that last part, Obi-Wan amended. He still was not certain if his discovery on Geonosis was entirely accidental or unanticipated. He had a feeling that if not that very day, Count Dooku had intended for someone to discover the droid army and catapult the galaxy into war. The logic, Obi-Wan couldn't quite follow yet, but he sensed that he was only seeing a very small corner of the picture.

Now, if Count Dooku—or worse yet, another faction or traitor in the Republic—was behind this, how did Sabé factor into it? Her visceral reaction to his earlier accusation of working for Dooku eliminated her _knowledge_ that she was working for the ex-Jedi, but it was entirely possible that she was operating through affiliated channels and had become the pawn in the scheme.

_Or that's what you hope_, Obi-Wan chided himself.

He rubbed his beard in frustration.

Kaijle was moving around the cockpit, double-checking controls and humming under her breath, clearly unaware Obi-Wan was staring hard out the viewscreen. The thump of her boots as she headed aft a moment later was a dull, inaccurate echo of the manic pacing he'd done while stuck in hyperspace.

A small part of him wanted to curse the small technician for erasing the ship's data, but—and he took a deep, steadying breath—he'd attempted and failed to access the ship's encrypted files while waiting for Anakin and Sabé to recover. The reboot was a safety precaution for future use, not a peculiar lack of investigation on the Council's part. Still, the fact its system was aligned with the Jedi fleet and bore a strange marking seen on a Lorian before …

Obi-Wan gave the cockpit a last, sweeping glance. The interior stared back, strangely innocuous, though he could feel the faint tremors of Sabé's screams and Anakin's rage. He needed to speak to Master Yoda.

Obi-Wan headed out of the ship, not at all surprised to see Kaijle nosing around the hyperdrive console on his way out. He was, however, a little startled to find Master Yoda waiting for him.

The Jedi Master was seated in his hover chair a few meters away and wore his usual calm expression. _How … fortuitous_, Obi-Wan thought. Well, he supposed the Force was pointedly saying he couldn't avoid or mull over his disturbing thoughts.

Obi-Wan approached the floating Yoda and bowed. "Master."

"Wondering when seek me you would," said Yoda mildly, looking for all the galaxy as if he'd just woken from a nap.

It was too much to hope he didn't look guilty. "I've been meditating, both active and passively," Obi-Wan said.

"Hmm, brooding, called it is," Yoda said.

Obi-Wan couldn't argue the point, though he felt the implication might be a little more severe than necessary. Wasn't it better to face the facts rather than spin into denial? He was about to ask the Jedi Master what precisely he was doing here, but Yoda's eyes drifted toward Kaijle and the droid, then fastened back on Obi-Wan.

"To my chambers, Obi-Wan. Speak there, we can."

Throughout the journey to Yoda's living quarters, Obi-Wan fought the urge to fidget. Once again, he felt the measured, surreptitious stares as he walked along sweeping corridors with the hovering Jedi Master. Anyone walking with Master Yoda drew the curious, unless it was a tottering youngling. Obi-Wan certainly hoped he was past tottering stage, but at the moment, he would trade his lightsaber for the chance to have such bliss. _But then I would have to learn all those lessons over again, and I'm relearning enough as it is_, he thought. And he still had so much to learn still.

The Jedi Knight had only ventured into Yoda's living quarters a couple of times. They were tucked away deep in the Temple from the living quarters of initiates and those on the active list. The Jedi Master preferred to meet with students and Jedi in meditative chambers or classrooms; his small stature made his living quarters somewhat unaccommodating to taller species, but Obi-Wan also suspected that Yoda was just like everyone else and preferred a little privacy now and then.

The front door to Yoda's home was the same as any other, but the moment it hissed open, Obi-Wan was engulfed in a heady, moist rush of air and had to breathe carefully to adjust to the pungent swamp fumes. No one really knew where Yoda had been born, but his preference for the damp suggested swamps. Or, a younger Obi-Wan once suspected, the Jedi Master was just taking extra precaution that no one would drop by for a chat.

Yoda's quarters were divided into a front chamber for the average-sized visitor, but behind a small, rounded arch was a mystery. A Padawan had once joked that only Yaddle was allowed back there—and then had been 'accidentally' swatted on the shin by a passing Yoda.

The front room was circular, shadowed, and sparse except for a few viney, ropy plants and a couple of thick, round cushions. Wordlessly, Obi-Wan settled himself onto a cushion, the humid atmosphere becoming a silken glove rather than something to avoid.

Usually Yoda offered Obi-Wan something no one else would call tea, but today the Jedi Master merely stood before Obi-Wan, hands folded over his gimer stick. The two had not spoken since Obi-Wan had told him and Mace Windu that Anakin had made his decision to leave the Jedi.

"How feel you?" asked Yoda.

"Uncertain." Obi-Wan tried to find the right words and the right order to say them. "Honestly, my Master, I am wondering where I go from here. I want to be of use, but I do not wish to serve as a way to avoid what has happened. And I cannot deny there is hope I can still help Anakin, though I know he can never return to the Jedi."

Yoda nodded, almost to himself. "Wish to go to war, do you?"

"Wish is not the word I would use," Obi-Wan said bluntly. "I wish to serve where I am needed."

"Ready, are you?"

Obi-Wan again searched himself before answering. "I do believe I am ready to take the next step forward." He paused, then spoke carefully. "I wonder if the Council might grant me permission to investigate whoever was behind Sabé's assassination order." He launched into the observations of the Lorian and possible connection to Count Dooku or someone within the Republic, and possibly, even, who was posting bounty for Jedi Padawans. Yoda's ears had pricked forward, but his face remained inscrutable.

Yoda shook his head. "No. Too close to the situation, you are. Cloud your judgment, it will."

"I have no … preference for either possible link," said Obi-Wan, though inwardly he sighed. The Council seemed a little inconsistent when it came to investigations and missions. Sometimes they sent Jedi into situations they were deeply familiar with, saying their knowledge would prove beneficial, and other times they feared a loss of objectivity and sent someone with only mission-file knowledge. Obi-Wan knew it was emotional bias that made the difference, but in this case, he could not see how enemy infiltration or Republic betrayal could be a better outcome over the other, and he held no hope an alternative answer would be any more pleasant.

"Already clouded, your emotions are," Yoda said firmly.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan could not hide his frown. "However …" He paused, reliving the odd, disturbing ripples he sensed in his sleep trance. He described the sense of urgency, almost as if Sabé or the Force was shouting his name, but he could draw no more from it than that. "Deciphering the Living Force was never my strength, as Qui-Gon constantly reminded me, but it has been a stronger pull on me these past couple of weeks."

"Search for answers surrounding Sabé, telling you to do, the Force is?"

"Yes."

Yoda lowered his eyes, his claws flexing lightly over his cane. After a moment, he shook his head and met Obi-Wan's gaze. "An investigation, there is," he said. "Join it, you will not."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, but nodded. "Yes, Master." He sensed a seed of frustration. _See, Qui-Gon, this is what listening to the Living Force gets you_. A quick no.

"Stay in contact with Skywalker, you should," said Yoda, temporarily stymieing the rebuke. "Volatile, the situation is. The change in him you saw … good, it could be, or great darkness, he may find."

Obi-Wan nodded. The calm and certainty in Anakin had felt alien, almost unnatural, but that could be because Anakin had always lacked control. Perhaps the decision to leave the Jedi and marry Senator Amidala were not for the right reasons, but his place in the Jedi Order had always seemed to Anakin as out of his control, a series of decisions made for him. Perhaps these past couple of weeks had been his Jedi trials and he had failed according to the Code, but in doing so had succeeded into something else …

He said as much to Yoda. The Jedi Master nodded.

"Hmm. Greater Skywalker's test may have been, if avoided it was? Greater the test, greater the consequences, hmm …"

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. He must have misheard, but it almost sounded as if the assassination attempt had been a pre-ordained trial. The nature of the Jedi trials was a purposeful mystery. Padawans referred to the trials as if they were a scheduled event at the Council's choosing, but in reality they could be like Obi-Wan's—a mission that unexpectedly turned sour and he faced but overcame the temptation of the Dark Side. It seemed that when the Council sensed a Padawan was either ready to face the temptation or had peaked and could learn no more from the apprenticeship, then they would find a mission to truly test the Padawan. The Archives did not hold narratives of trials, but Obi-Wan had gathered a sense from references and insinuations in old records that special Jedi may be dispatched on a trial mission to test the Padawan without his or her knowledge. Of course, there had been speculation among the Padawans that the trials were really just a ruse, and that the "trial" was little more than a "got you!", handshake, and ceremony. (If that was the case, Obi-Wan needed to have a serious talk with the Masters, including Qui-Gon.) Trials did occur within the Temple, but once again, the nature of them was a closely guarded secret.

"A need for you, the Force will have, Obi-Wan," said Yoda, drawing him out of his rumination.

"Until then, meditate, heal, and reflect," Obi-Wan said without a hint of irony.

Yoda smiled warmly. "If favorites, I had …"

The younger Jedi tried to smile, but his heart was not quite in it. "May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan said, bowing his head.

"May the Force be with you."

Obi-Wan stood to go. As he reached, the door, Yoda called out.

"Perhaps now, a Knight, you will be," said Yoda.

Obi-Wan paused, thinking this over. Yes, he could see what Yoda meant. Most Jedi spent a few years, if not many, as a singular Knight before taking on the challenge of a Padawan. He'd never had that chance, and so, it was almost as if a piece of his training was missing. Experience and knowledge that he'd never had access to were now open to him. Quite the silver lining to the situation.

"Thank you, Master Yoda," he said, bowing his head again. As he stepped out into the corridor, however, Obi-Wan thought that although Yoda had smiled, the Jedi Master's were rather sad.


End file.
